


Wine-Dark Seas

by tutivilllus



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Ancient Greece, Angst, Deviates From Canon, F/M, Fix-Fic, Friends to Lovers, Historical References, Hurt/Comfort, Romance, Slow Burn, a lot of character will eventually appear, because they deserve to be together, historical accuracy (here and there), mercenary vs. soldier ethics, tags will be updated with chapters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-18
Updated: 2019-06-17
Packaged: 2019-09-22 11:08:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 25,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17058674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tutivilllus/pseuds/tutivilllus
Summary: "It was unmistakable, really. The way he bowed before giving his name. His way of speaking.  His stance. His brutal but sophisticated fighting style, revealing years of training and experience on the battlefield. The way he anticipated her movements and reacted to them. It was a dialogue. A dance. Something she’d never experienced before. "Kassandra meets a Spartan spy in a burning warehouse. What the future holds for them, only the Fates know.





	1. Hearts on fire

**Author's Note:**

> The title of this chapter is taken from a line at the beginning of Book VII of the Illiad, describing the Trojan princes Hector and Paris who, after having a conversation at the gates of Troy, “hurried through the gates, both of them with hearts on fire to fight in battle.” (trans. Ian Johnston)
> 
> -  
> The story picks up from the Port of Lawlessness mission, so beware of spoilers ahead. :)

The smell of burning wood filled the air thick with smoke.

Flashes of light exploded on tips of spears and edges of swords as they danced in the brightly coloured night. The fire was taking its time as it swallowed the warehouse from within, threatening to burst out through the husk of wooden walls that creaked and wailed.

Red was everywhere.

Kassandra could feel the heat of the fire on her back growing more intense with every second, coupled with the fiery rush of adrenaline boiling inside her body as she dealt blow after blow. She started struggling for air as the smoke quickly enveloped the dockside. Her eyes pierced through the fray of bodies and weapons, seeking her next victim.

One of the Monger’s thugs rushed at her with a sword in his hand. He cried like a madman and swung the weapon at her head. Swiftly ducking on one knee, she thrust her broken spear towards the man’s intestines. It went through the leather armour and skin, searing through soft flesh, but not deep enough to send the man to Hades. He coiled back a few steps, barely managing to stay on his feet, but gathered the strength to rush towards her again.

A sharp sound of something ripping through the air broke through the clamour of armour and weapons clanging against each other. It happened in a split second. The man rushing toward her froze mid-movement, eyeballs gaping. He stumbled and hit the ground and then she saw what had felled him - a long spear sticking from his back, its spearhead buried deep into the flesh.

She recognized the silhouette of the one who threw the spear. It was the stranger that appeared from nowhere and jumped right into the fight. Even without a weapon, his attackers were no match for him. Funnelling all his strength into the round bronze shield attached to his left arm, he slammed one of them to the ground and shattered another one’s jaw with an accurate blow of the shield’s edge.

He shot a look at Kassandra and roared: “Behind you!”

She glanced sideways and caught a glimpse of one of the thugs trying to surprise her from behind. She thought she knocked him out for good just moments ago, but obviously his head was thicker than she’d imagined. The attacker swung a mace above her head. She slid to her right with an agile move, letting the swing pass unhindered through the foggy air. She moved like a ghost behind his back, using as cover the blinding cloud of smoke that gnawed the eyes, and sliced his neck open with her xiphos.

And then, everything became eerily silent. The fire was still cracking wildly inside the warehouse as the wooden walls started to collapse, lifting up clouds of dust and sand. Kassandra squinted through the smoke and saw someone approaching. She went back into battle stance, spear in one hand, xiphos in another. The silhouette stopped above the thug with the spear sticking from his back and yanked it from the body with a movement that betrayed experience. Blood started gushing from the hole, pooling on the dusty ground around the body.

Kassandra stood still, watching him, still ready to attack at any sign of danger. The stranger raised his gaze and looked at her. He was tall, bearded, wearing plain armour without any insignia. Watching her intently.

“Thanks for that,” she said, her throat raspy and dry. She pointed to the body on the ground.

The stranger grimaced and gestured towards the warehouse that was about to collapse.

“We have to leave. Now.”

Townspeople had already noticed the fire and started to shout and gather around the warehouse, although luckily no one yet dared to come closer. She could see their torches across the wall that surrounded the warehouse and the dockside. It  would not be long before more of the Monger’s men appeared as well.

The stranger didn’t wait for Kassandra to reply. He ran to where the wall was low and jumped across it. Kassandra followed him. Her mind was still racing from the rush of the battle. Escaping unnoticed was her top priority at the moment. Finding out who this stranger was would have to wait.

They slipped into the dark safety of the pine wood beyond the walls. A final crashing sound beckoned them farewell from the scene. The roof of the warehouse had finally collapsed, with all the smuggled weapons and wares inside reduced to cinders.

They continued running toward the coast. The air was finally getting clear, but Kassandra could still taste the smoke sticking in her throat and nose. The chillness of the night started to creep under her sweaty skin. She kept a wary eye on the man in front of her. He looked inconspicuous, dressed up like a mercenary, armed with a spear and shield that had seen better days. But his fighting style was hardly ordinary. There was no doubt – he was a Spartan. Or at least, Spartan-trained. Maybe a deserter from the army, trying his luck in the illustrious career of a _misthios._ She wondered whose head he was after – the Monger’s or hers. Anthousa did not mention that she hired a mercenary to help her get rid of the Monger.

The stranger finally stopped at a beach far enough from the fiery commotion they’d created. It was covered with white sand that reflected a faint moonlight. Kassandra looked up and discerned the shadow of her eagle flying across  the crescent moon. Ikaros screeched in acknowledgement.

“You… you fight like a Spartan. There is resolve in you.”

She looked at the stranger, incredulous at first, but could not resist to smirk at the remark.

“Well, it takes a Spartan to know,” she said, trying to entice the slightest confession from him.

The corner of his mouth curved slightly, but his expression remained a stone mask.

“Tell me, do you usually have the habit of appearing at the right time?” she added.

He gave her a quizzical grin. “It seems I had the right timing indeed.” He took out his spear and jabbed the spike-head into the sand. “I heard screams of innocents trapped in the flames. The slaves inside the warehouse,” he said. “What happened to them?”

“I set them free. The commotion will hopefully give them enough time to find a place to hide,” Kassandra replied.

“You did well. A good soldier acts upon what is told to him. A great one is two steps ahead. Thank you.”

She felt taken aback again, unsure of how to respond to that. She could count on the fingers of one hand the times when gratitude did not simply flow in the form of drachme for a well-done job. Her wariness started to wear off slowly.

“My name is Kassandra. I’d thank you too, if I knew who you were.”

“Brasidas of Sparta,” he said, bowing low.

His gesture and the mention of Sparta made her want to smile, but she quickly reminded herself to keep her wits about her. It was not often that she met someone from her own city. She surely did not expect to meet one in Korinth, and especially not in these circumstances. It was unmistakable, really. The way he bowed before giving his name. His way of speaking.  His stance. His brutal but sophisticated fighting style, revealing years of training and experience on the battlefield. The way he anticipated her movements and reacted to them. It was a dialogue. A dance. Something she’d never experienced before.

But it was still no reason to let her guard down.

“A Spartiate. Newly arrived to Korinth, I presume?” she asked.

He nodded curtly. “As are you.”

Kassandra’s senses tingled with alarm. He was spying on her, she realised.  She felt a rush of adrenaline boil up in her again. A minute movement of her hand brought it closer to the hip, where her spear was holstered.

“There is no need for that,” he said, raising both his hands in sign of peace. She narrowed her eyes, slightly frustrated at his quick observance of her reaction.

“Were you spying on me, Spartan?” she asked him.

“Yes. I was.”

Such a straightforward answer was not what she expected.

“You are not the first mercenary to come after my head. As you can see, it’s still on my shoulders. The same cannot be said for the mercenaries,” she said coolly.

“I am not a mercenary, Kassandra. But we do have a common acquaintance. Anthousa told me that you arrived recently to Korinth,” Brasidas added in quickly.

Kassandra raised her eyebrows. “Anthousa? She never mentioned you.”

He nodded. “I am glad that my trust in her discretion was not misplaced. My presence here should remain a secret. It benefits her the most, anyway.”

He dropped his hands down, letting out the tension in long exhale. “I will be blunt - I am here for the Monger. I am the eyes, ears and blade of Sparta in this city.”

It made sense. It could be no coincidence that he just happened to appear in that warehouse. If he was a spy, he must have known that the Monger’s thugs stored weapons there. It was still hard to brush away all the suspicions that boiled up in her, but he seemed sincere about his intentions.

She crossed her arms over her chest. “So Sparta also has a Monger problem. And she sends out a spy to solve it.”

He nodded curtly.  “The Korinthians are our allies. Our duty is to protect them. But the Monger is more than a simple war opportunist. His influence reaches far beyond the borders of Korinthia, hindering Sparta’s war efforts.”

Part of Kassandra’s job as a misthios was to keep a sharp eye on the politics between the poleis. Knowing who the main players were and how they played against each other meant knowing which side to choose to get the largest prize. But ever since she left Kephallonia, it became almost impossible to follow the ever changing tapestry of alliances, enmities and betrayals. Korinth’s actions in the recent years incited the spark of war between Sparta and Athens, and the lawlessness in the city itself was likely to have contributed to it. All the more reason to remove the Monger as quickly as possible.

“Men like the Monger thrive on war. You let him live for too long,” she mused.

“Far too long,” Brasidas concurred, flexing his fist. “For years, he was the real ruler of Korinth. He sold weapons to both sides, enslaved innocents. His men ravaged the city and the countryside, killed and pillaged for profit and amusement. I was tasked to dealt with him quietly, minimum bloodshed involved. We cannot have Korinth torn apart by civil war at this moment.”

“I’ve heard of Spartan spies,” Kassandra recalled. “What the Spartan army doesn’t conquer with spear and shield, Spartan spies subdue from the shadows. Assassinations. Blackmailing. Threats. Quite a list of un-Spartan methods.”

 Brasidas arched an eyebrow. “Maybe so. Still, if it spares the earth from drinking Spartan blood, such methods are preferable. But we had little luck in Korinth. We arrested the Monger’s top lieutenants and armed the citizens. Nothing worked,” he bellowed, stroking his beard.

 “Anthousa has a different view on how to deal with the Monger,” Kassandra added in.

The Spartan shook his head in obvious frustration. “She loves her city and is willing to do whatever it takes to dethrone the Monger. But _whatever_ is not the answer in this situation. Too much is at stake. If she had her way, she would flay him on the streets and put  his head on a pike above the city gates herself.”

His fist was clenched just next to his mouth as he looked down on the white sand of the beach.

“Such an act could have devastating consequences for the city,” he said in a low voice, keeping his gaze down. “Times are perilous. Anthousa has already made up her mind, but she lacks the manpower to do any harm to the Monger. Help me take him down quietly.”

He lifted his gaze and looked at her, determination clear in his eyes. He was sure of his plan, that much she could see. If Korinth would succumb into civil war, Sparta would lose a powerful ally located at a strategic position. The only thing that mattered at the moment was taking down the Monger. Doing so without attracting too much attention and avoiding getting killed was not a bad idea at all. And as for Anthousa, she had promised her the Monger’s head. The way it would roll off his shoulders was not an issue they had discussed. What should matter to her is that Korinth is rid of him. And to Kassandra, what mattered was to get any information of her mother’s whereabouts. She only hoped that Anthousa knew enough to set her on the right track.

“All right, Spartan. I’ll help you,” she said.

The edge of his mouth curled into a grin. “Good. I’m glad to have you in the fight with me.”

He grabbed his spear and yanked it from the sandy ground. Taking a few steps closer to her, he offered up his right arm. She clasped his forearm, fingers reaching just below the elbow. His grip was firm but gentle at the same time.

“It’s good to know that I can count on you,” she said.

He nodded and released her arm.

“Just try not to set anything else on fire, _misthios_.”

Kassandra raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing on her face. “I will try not to. Afraid of some smoke, Spartan?”

He grinned back, but then his face became more serious. “Wait for my signal. The Monger is overconfident in his power. He will not take lightly to what we did tonight. We will get our chance to strike very soon.”

“Where will you go now?” she asked.

“I will scout the city. His men will be in every street now, searching for us,” he replied. “Be careful.”

She nodded and watched him as he set off into the dark. Ikaros waited for Brasidas to disappear so he could finally perch on Kassandra’s shoulder. She felt more at ease with her friend close to her.

“What do you think, Ikaros, hm? Should we trust this Spartan?”

The bird shifted from one leg to another and shook his head.

“Yes, I don’t know either. We will see what becomes of it.”


	2. From the blood of Heracles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title is taken from a line from the poem Arete (ἀρετή) by the Spartan poet Tyrtaios, referring to the mythical ancestry of the Spartans who claimed to be descendants of Heracles.

The city of Korinth sank into an uneasy torpor. A smell of burning lingered through emptied streets like an ominous prophecy. Oil lamps hanging from the corners of houses cast a frostbitten shimmer on the cobbled streets coated in a translucent layer of ice. The cold winter air was difficult to inhale and it seeped through the skin and flesh to chill the very roots of the soul.

Kassandra’s breath was turning into blooming puffs of smoke as she scaled up the wall of an abandoned three-storey. She pulled herself up to the top and crouched under a low brick wall, the only thing left from what was once the upper floor. The city expanded in front her, set against the backdrop of a massive dark shape in the distance- the hill of Akrokorinth, from where the goddess of love kept a watchful eye.

Kassandra muttered a quick prayer to the goddess, remembering her mother’s words – love and war are threads from the same spindle. All of Hellas worships Aphrodite’s power to spark desire and lust, but Spartans know she can also the fires of combat.  They welcome her as an ally on the battlefield. Kassandra knew she would need all the allies she could get that night, divine or mortal.

A sudden flutter of wings dissolved her icy poise. Ikaros landed on the brick wall above her. She smiled at her friend, extending an arm to touch the feathers on his belly. The eagle chirped and cocked his head, looking down over the wall to the street.

Footsteps. Quiet at first, then louder, approaching. Kassandra grabbed her spear and tensed, ready for a fight.

“Misthios!” A hushed voice called to her.

She looked over the wall to see a small boy, no more than seven, looking up with a pair of inquisitive eyes. She climbed down the wall and quietly landed next to him.

“You are the misthios with the eagle, right?” he asked, just as Ikaros hopped from above and settled on Kassandra’s shoulder.

“If I said no, would you believe me?” she replied with a smirk, crossing her arms over her chest.

“A friend of yours sent me. Told me to keep an eye on the eagle.” The boy’s gaze was a mix of fear and awe, darting between the Ikaros and Kassandra.

“A friend? How did he look like?” she asked.

“Tall like you,” the boy continued. “Mighty like Heracles himself! Says he’s waiting for you, at the cave.”

She looked at the boy with suspicion. “Cave? What cave?”

“Why the one under the temple, of course,” he replied ceremoniously, outstretching his arm with an opened palm.

“And this mighty Heracles didn’t pay you to deliver the message?” Kassandra smiled and flipped a coin in the boy’s palm. His eyes flashed at the sight of the coin and was about to speed away into the dark when Kassandra grabbed his elbow.

“Hey – take care, boy. The streets will not be safe tonight.”

 He nodded as she let him run off into the dark alleyway.

 

***

 

Kassandra searched through the empty wooden stalls and carts scattered along the agora.  During the day, this place was filled with a throng people and animals, merchants yelling and street musicians trying to impress the passers-by with renderings of popular tunes. It would have been much easier to hide in such a crowd than tiptoeing around in the shadows and freezing at the slightest sound.

She reached the entrance into the cave, an unimpressive hole at the bottom of the rock upon which temple of Apollo was perched. Two men, armed to the teeth, stood at the entrance. There was no sign of Brasidas.

 _He wouldn’t be so foolish to go in by himself_ , she thought, clenching her teeth in frustration. She sneaked her way through the stalls, trying to get closer.

“Bloody bastard”, one of the guards said. “He must be the one that was fucking up our operations for months now. The one that set up the warehouse a-fire.”

The other one snorted loudly. “Twasn’t just him, you twat. They said it was at least four of them. Took down seven of our boys. We’ll get the rest of them soon enough. Let the Master have his fun with this one. Serves him right, to bleed out like the pig he is.”

He kicked a stone with his foot, sending it flying right above Kassandra’s head. “Fucking Spartiates. Always trying to stick their noses in our business. When they can’t send in an army, their bloody spies are crawling everywhere. This will teach them a lesson, when the Master send them this one’s head with empty eye sockets and no tongue.” Both of them sniggered.

 _Brasidas, you bloody fool_ , Kassandra cursed to herself. At least now she knew that the Monger was inside the cave. And Brasidas, if he was still alive.

She grabbed her hunter’s bow and sent an arrow wheezing through the icy air before it found its target in one of the guard’s skull. His companion’s scream was muffled by another quick arrow that went right through his throat. Kassandra leaped from her hiding place and finished him off before sliding into the dark cave.

Her body tensed in effort to be as silent as possible. Keeping her back to the wall, she progressed further in. Voices started echoing from inside, becoming louder with each step she took. With little warning, the cave suddenly opened up from the narrow passageway into a vast, opened space, with a number of wooden platforms erected above a shallow pool of water that covered the ground.

A terrible voice thundered through the bowels of the cave. “How many of you are in Korinth?” A loud thud followed, and a grunt.

“Speak, you scum! While you still have a tongue to speak. I swear to you by all the gods, this is the last night you have a tongue.”

Another thud.

Kassandra moved closer.

At the far corner of the cave, she could see a scene that knotted her guts. A handful of armed men, and from the looks of them, experienced fighters. A gargantuan shape of a man towered them all, holding an iron poker, looming over a figure kneeling on the ground.

Brasidas.

His hands were tied behind his back, his face bruised and smeared with blood. He gasped for air as another violent blow hit his ribs, but it didn’t crush him down. His face twisted in pain, but he managed to straighten himself up, defiant in the face of his tormenter. The Monger.

“You might as well be right.” He sputtered clots of spit and blood on the ground. “I should choose my last words wisely then.”

All of the men around were silent.

Kassandra used their undivided attention on the spectacle unfolding in front of them to find a good position to aim. But there were too many of them between her and Brasidas. And the one that was right behind Brasidas, he wouldn’t hesitate a second to use the dagger attached to the hip to slit the Spartan’s throat at the slightest sign of danger.

“How about a poem?” Brasidas continued with a croaky voice. “Many were blessed to hear Tyrtaios sung by Spartan warriors just before descending into the Afterlife. It is far more than you deserve.”

The Monger roared with laughter.

“You Spartiates are all the same,” the Monger said. “You think you can go wherever you want and do whatever you want. Before I end your pitiful life, you will sing the tune that I command you.”

He grabbed Brasidas by the neck. “I will rid my city of your vermin, Spartan.” He squeezed the neck harder. “I will make you beg me for a quick death.” He lifted the poker high in the air, ready to deliver another blow.

But then different voice echoed through the cave, clear and resolute. “This city will not be yours for long, Monger.”

Armour and weapons clanked as everyone turned in search for the source of the voice. Kassandra was standing on the top of the highest platform, looking down like a hawk, spear and xiphos ready.

“You!” the Monger pointed at her with the poker in his hand.

“Me.” She spread her hands nonchalantly. “I’m glad you were expecting me. It’s quite flattering.”

The Monger’s men looked confused at their master. He laughed with a beastly sound that boomed through the cave.

“You are not hard to miss, unlike this scum here who has been evading us for months,” he replied, pointing the poker back to Brasidas, who kept his eyes fixed on Kassandra, as if there was no one else in the room. She caught his look and sent a quick prayer to Athena that her idea works. Just follow my cue, Brasidas.

“Here you are,” Monger continued, “the misthios who has been killing my men, in my city, helping those whores who think they could one day rule Korinth? Ha!” He passed through his men, getting closer to the platform where Kassandra was on.

She kept a close eye on his approach and then shot a quick look to Brasidas. The fingers of her right hand arched slowly, one by one, towards her hip where her spear was strapped. He looked at her hand. _That’s it. You noticed this back on the beach too_.

Monger didn’t notice her glance. “You vermin. You think you can take me down? Deimos will feast over your dead body when I deliver it to him.”

Kassandra froze. He knew about the Cult. She looked again at the iron poker in his hand, remembering the last time she saw one being used for torture. By a Cultist in the Cave of Gaia. A Cultist of massive stature.

“Silent now, eh you scum? Get down here and let’s be over with it. Shoot her down!”

Time was out. Before the arrows to be aimed at her were even nocked, her broken spear seared through the darkness, passing above the crowd, flying towards Brasidas. The spear buried itself in the chest of the man behind him.

The element of surprise worked. Before anyone realized what had happened, Kassandra jumped down on the wet ground of the cave.

 _Here we go_ , she thought as adrenaline pumped through her body like fire. She went into a defensive stance as the horde charged towards her. She only had her xiphos as a weapon now, and the darkness of the environment to evade of her opponents’ blows.

The first one fell easily with his throat slit open before he could properly swing a weapon. But the second one flanked her and managed to kick her hard in the abdomen. She stumbled, evaded another kick, then grabbed his hand by the wrist and used her own weight to bring him down, cracking his skull on the stone ground.

She wretched the sword out of his hand just in time to cross it with her xiphos above her head and block another strike. But the sword used to deliver it slid feebly to the ground after hitting her block. She looked up and saw the tip of her broken spear emerging from the attacker’s throat.  _Brasidas was quick_. She grabbed it by the shaft and yanked it free, breaking the neck bones. The body fell on the side with a loud splash.

Brasidas had read her mind. Before he sent the spear flying back to her, he must’ve used the distraction of the opening attack to cut his restraints on the edge of the broken spear that protruded from the body next to him. The ropes that just moments ago kept him tied in a humiliating position became a weapon. Kassandra could see him tightened them around the neck of a man and squeezing the life out of him.

The remaining men cried out when they saw the Spartan free. Fear was evident in their eyes as he tauntingly walked towards them, armed with a long spear that he claimed from his strangled kill.

But the Monger didn’t care about Brasidas. He went for Kassandra.

He charged like an enraged bull, with a spiked mace with both hands, giving her little time to manoeuvre out of his path. She felt the mace hit her and lost balance while trying to scamper to the side.

 “Ha! Arrogant fool!” He swung his mace again, missing her by a hair. “You are just like everyone in your fucking family – so full of yourselves. You think you can come here to my city and kill me? You think it’s an easy task to kill the Monger?” His anger was taking the best of his sense of aim, but Kassandra was aware that a single hit of that grotesque mace could prove deadly if she was not careful enough. There was little to do other than evade his blows.

“Your mother also thought she could take me down easily.” He grimaced, baring his teeth, eyes gleaming like a Fury.

“What? You knew my-“

“Oh yes I knew her, big fucking trouble she was,” he scoffed, circling her like a hyena. “I’ll find her for you and bring her your fucking head as a reminder of old days.”

Kassandra clenched her spear, feeling its power reacting to the anger that was boiling inside her. “Not if I bring her yours first!” She lifted the spear high and it exploded with a blinding energy that lit up the entire cave.

The Monger stumbled back, blinded. His men recoiled in fear from the unnatural blaze of light.

Out of the corner of her eye, Kassandra saw Brasidas freeze too. He quickly regained his senses and used the distraction to his advantage. He swooped a spear low along the ground. The force of it broke the footing of two men, landing them defenceless.

Kassandra leaped on the Monger. His mace met her in mid-air. It struck hard on her hip, landing her in an instant. At first there was no pain, just the shock of impact, but then the ache shot through her entire body, all the way up to her head. She felt a cry come out of her but couldn’t hear it at all. Blackness clouded her vision. Someone loomed over her.

A strong push set her rolling ungraciously to the side. The mace hit the ground where she was lying with a deafening sound. She propped herself up quickly, unsure if she was hit again or something else had just happened.

 But she was not hit. The Spartan, leaving behind him Korinth’s dreaded army reduced to a pile of sacrifices to Ares, pushed her to safety before attacking the Monger with all strength that he had left.

“I promised you death today, Spartan!” the Monger bellowed, enraged at being denied his kill.

Kassandra lifted herself up and rushed towards them. But before she reached them, the Monger had knocked the spear out of Brasidas’ hand, splitting it in two, and dealt a fatal blow that caught the side of his body.

Brasidas fell.

He would probably be crushed under the Monger’s mace, if Kassandra hadn’t leaped at him from behind, using the force of the movement to bury the broken spear deep in the flesh where the neck connected to the shoulder. The force of the thrust landed the Monger’s body on the ground, and Kassandra on top of him, still clutching the spear. The cave echoed with the sound of the Monger’s mace hitting the ground.

Kassandra lifted herself up, her face contorted with anger and exhilaration from the fight. She half expected the beast to get up, grab his mace and start it all over again. But he didn’t. She jerked the half spear out of his shoulder and it glowed as it slid out of its fleshy prison, releasing a stream of blood that pooled around the body.

***

Brasidas heard a muffled noise becoming clearer, until it turned into a voice. Kassandra’s voice. She was close.

“Brasidas,” she whispered.  “Can you get up?”

He felt her hands shaking as she grabbed his shoulder and straightened his upper body. He looked up and looked at her face, sallow and dirty, framed by tousled hair that was breaking loose from the long braid hanging over her shoulder. The spark of battle was still gleaming in her eyes, but it was slowly being replaced by the sheer need to survive, to escape.

“All of this and you think I can’t get up?” he said with a hoarse laughter that quickly turned into a hiss of pain as he tried to get up. Kassandra grabbed his arm and wrapped it around her shoulder, pulling him up. He faltered, unable to put his whole weight on his feet.

“Or maybe not,” he grunted, leaning on the wall of the cave. “If you had come earlier misthios, maybe I would have less cracked ribs to worry about.”

“Oh, it’s my fault now?” she retorted with feigned annoyance. “I should have been more late, I think. Let him crack some more bones and maybe hear that poem you promised to sing for him.”

Brasidas laughed and attempted a sluggish step. “He does not deserve it,” he said, shooting a look at the Monger. “May you find what you deserve in the Afterlife. Korinth can now breathe free.”

He managed a few steps, despite the pain that was pumping in his chest and leg.

“We have to get out of here before more of them appear,” Kassandra said, looking back at the entrance through which she had snuck in.

“Not there,” he murmured. “There is another way that leads under the temple and outside the city walls. It will take us some time to pass through it, but it is safer. Over there.” He pointed to a passage in the far corner of the cave.

 Kassandra didn’t wait. She pulled him, still holding his arm over her shoulder, as each of his steps became a bit faster.

“Is this how you got caught, Spartan? Trying to sneak in instead of waiting for me?” she sneered, her eyes still fixed on the other entrance.

“It was all part of the plan, misthios,” he said in an exaggeratingly over-confident voice, trying to mask the pain that made it hard for him to speak. “I had to stall them, otherwise they might have left.”

“And you think this was a good plan? Letting yourself be captured? You Spartans love death too much,” she said.

“There is no glory in an early grave, misthios,” he murmured in response.

Brasidas tried his best not to slow them down, even though every step towards the exit was painful. As they went inside a stifling dark corridor, he prayed to all the gods that there was no ambush waiting for them at the other side.

***

Treading their way back and through the city was a nerve-wracking ordeal. They spent most of the time hiding in dark alleyways, trying to avoid the alarming number of town guards that swarmed the streets. Clashes of weapons and yelling could be heard in the distance. Word must have spread fast of the Monger’s demise, otherwise the guards would never have the courage to openly attack the Monger’s men.

Brasidas knew every hidden corner and blind street of the city by heart. Except for his instructions on where to move, they kept quiet, fully aware that none of the warring parties on the streets will look kindly on them if they were discovered.

When they finally stepped into the courtyard of the sanctuary of Peirene, Kassandra’s heart soared with relief.  The rosy light of dawn reflected on the wrinkled surface of the pool in the middle of the courtyard, faced with an impressive marble colonnade that led inside the sanctuary precinct.

A startled voice called out to them. “Kassandra!”

It was Anthousa. She joined them with a brisk stride, her long himation flowing behind her, eyes glinting an expression of both worry and anger.

“The Monger is dead,” Kassandra announced flatly, leading Brasidas towards a stone bench next to the edge of the pool. He sat down, breathing heavily.

“I’ve heard. The whole city has heard. But this is not what we agreed, Kassandra.” Anthousa grabbed Kassandra’s arm. “He should have been brought to the theatre to be executed. The people of Korinth deserved it at least.”

“The people of Korinth deserved to be rid of him,” Brasidas rasped, exhaustion clear in his voice. “The man is dead, Anthousa. Let it be.”

Anthousa looked down at Brasidas exasperatedly. “You, Brasidas - you’re a long way from Sparta. This should have been done in our way, the Korinthian way.”

“You would have risked a worse fate for your city if he was dragged and flogged through the streets,” he snapped.

“Your methods to take him down failed miserably,” Anthousa countered, looking down at him like a hawk ready to attack. “The only reason why you managed to survive in Korinth for so long is because I allowed it so, Spartan. Don’t forget that.”

“Anthousa, enough!” Kassandra growled, losing her temper. The last thing she wanted at the moment was a pointless argument on what should and could have been done. She felt her head thumping from fatigue, reminding her that it was too long since she had a proper meal and rest.

Brasidas kept silent and didn’t respond to the taunt, but his eyes shone bright.

Kassandra let out a frustrated sigh and faced Anthousa. “Bickering will do no good now. The deed is done – the Monger lies dead.”

“But—”

Kassndra waved an impatient hand. “He lies dead in the cave under the temple. Cut off his head, put it on a pole in the middle of the theatre, let every man, woman and child in Korinth have a good last look at him.”

“It’s not the same as—”

“Anthousa! What the city really needs now is a strong hand to set it on the right path. Your hand.”

Anthousa watched her attentively for a moment, her chest rising and falling with rapid breaths. Something changed in her eyes and she let out a deep sigh, rising her chin high with newly gained determination.

 “You’re right. The Monger is dead. That’s what’s important,” she echoed the words as a prayer.

Kassandra nodded and put a hand on Brasidas’ shoulder. “He needs a healer.”

Anthousa looked down at Brasidas again. “Indeed he does. Damalis!” She called and sped towards the colonnaded entrance into the sanctuary.

Kassandra sat next to Brasidas. He kept oddly quiet, hunched and aching.

She reached for her almost empty water skin and dipped it into the water nearby. The icy spring water bit her fingers. She filled the water skin and offered it to him. He took and emptied the content in one sip.

A grateful smile crept to his face, wrinkling the corners of his eyes.

“Thank you, Kassandra,” he murmured in a low voice.

Unbidden, her face softened into something that hopefully looked like a smile.

“Don’t thank me yet, Spartan. It’s two times today that I saved your skin. I’m a misthios – such things don’t come free of charge.” She grinned, trying to tease out of him a glimpse of his humour.

“Two times?” He chuckled. “I remember me saving you, and then you… well, helped me. I was not knocked on my head so hard as to mistake those two, misthios.”

Kassandra laughed in response.

He offered the water skin back. When she reached for it, her fingers clumsily rested on top of his. They felt so warm in comparison to the cold water that she had just touched. Her gaze dropped to see their blood-soiled fingers, one over the other and next to each other in a confusing, haphazard manner, but somehow refusing to break away.

               The arrival of the healer broke the contact. Kassandra stood up and saw Brasidas following her with his eyes. He was tired, bruised, injured, but still, under all that gore, the faintest smile playing on the corner of his mouth.

He stood up and followed the healer inside the sanctuary, as Kassandra watched him walk away, one laboured step after the other.

And then, in between the row of columns, she saw a familiar face.

“Phoibe!” Kassandra called, her heart immediately lifted.

Phoibe ran towards her like an arrow. She slammed into Kassandra, wrapping her hands tightly around her waist.

“I’m so glad you’re back,” she muffled into Kassandra’s cuirass. “I couldn’t sleep, I was always thinking of -“

Phoibe lifted her eyes up and caught a sight of Brasidas before he disappeared inside the sanctuary. Her face was aghast. It was only then that Kassandra became aware of the sordidness of hers and Brasidas’ appearance, after all that they went through that night.

“He’s a friend, don’t worry,” Kassandra whispered to her and bent down to kiss her head.

Anthousa came back to the courtyard, issuing hurried orders to several of her men before approaching Kassandra again. “You did well, Kassandra. But before we talk, you have to rest. A room has been prepared for you. Phoibe can show you there.”

Phoibe’s smiled widened with joy. “I’ve made it special for you, Kassandra. Come!”

Kassandra bowed to Anthousa and allowed Phoibe to lead, following her without complaint. They stepped in the faintly lighted sanctuary. A pleasing smell of incense filled Kassandra’s nostrils, lulling her tired body into drowsiness.  Phoibe tugged her hand and pulled her to a corner, away from all the curious eyes that started to follow Kassandra. “What is it, Phoibe?” she asked, realising that the girl wants to say something.

“That man – the one you said was a friend…” Phoibe started in a hushed voice.

“What about him?” Kassandra crouched next to Phoibe, arching an eyebrow.

“I saw him before,” Phoibe whispered. “Yesterday when I was caught, and you told me to run… in that house, you remember?”

The Monger’s sex andron. Kassandra remembered well. It was enough to have discovered all that, and then one of the Monger’s slimy bastards got their hands on Phoibe.

“I ran as fast as I could, but I got lost. I didn’t know where I was going. And someone was following me. Another man caught me.”

Kassandra’s heart sank. “What? You didn’t tell me this, Phoibe! What happened?”

“I didn’t want to make you angry with me! Or concerned. Or…” the girl looked down at her feet, biting her lip nervously.

Kassandra sighed, feeling her heart thumping in her throat. She cupped Phoibe’s head with her hands.

“I’m sorry. Tell me, what happened? Did they hurt you?”

“No, but I’m sure he wanted to,” Phoibe looked at her, her brow furrowed. “But then this stranger appeared out of nowhere. Grabbed the one holding me, like this-“ she mimicked the motion, strangling an invisible enemy with her arm. “He fell down and the stranger killed him, right there.”

Kassandra sighed. “And then?”

“I know I should have run, but I couldn’t move my legs. He looked at me and told me to take the street to the right, all the way down until I see a well surrounded with three olive trees, and then take the alley to the left that will take me to a place from where I could see the temple and follow it to here.”

Phoibe finished her story in a single breath. Kassandra gave a tired smile and kissed her forehead.

“The important thing is that you are safe,” she murmured.

Kassandra couldn’t brush off the immense feeling of guilt that was swelling inside her. At least she could thank Brasidas for following them that day, otherwise… she didn’t even want to think about it.

“Come on, Phoibe. Show me my room. I feel as if I hadn’t slept in a week.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge thanks to @Valawenel for holding my hand while I do my writer's baby steps. :wub:


	3. The fourth for what belongs in the past, the fifth for what lies ahead

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Most of this chapter was written with this song on replay and it set the mood perfectly: https://youtu.be/yU18pgP2wyQ  
> I hope you enjoy it as much as I did!

The kylix in Kassandra’s hand was getting lighter with every gulp of wine. It was the second one she emptied since her talk with Anthousa. Kassandra was desperately trying to focus on the rhythmic sound of the water that flowed into the pool of the sanctuary courtyard. But Anthousa’s words were the only thing she echoing in her mind. I remember the name of your mother’s ship - the _Siren Song_.  
  
She must have repeated the name a thousand times already and scoured through every thread of her memory until it felt her head will explode. She couldn’t recall ever having heard of it. _There is someone else whom you might ask about the ship. Spies like him travel the world far and wide. They see and hear many things_. Kassandra shook her head and took a deep breath, trying to clear her thoughts. On the streets, sounds of frenzy were growing louder with every moment, banishing the peace that usually ruled the courtyard. The last rays of the setting sun painted the sky in gold and purple, and Korinth was preparing to succumb to the powers of Dionysus.  
  
Kassandra stirred the wide-brimmed vessel in her hand, making the remaining wine thin enough to reveal the black figures at the bottom. The central figure was a woman, tall and clad in richly decorated robes, with her hair tied above the nape of her neck. Around her feet, creatures with bodies of men and heads of swine grovelled on their knees, looking with eyes wide in fear towards the terrible beauty towering above them.  
  
“More wine?” a gentle voice prompted from behind.  
  
Kassandra turned to see a young girl standing next to her, holding a long-necked kantharos. She recalled seeing her often in Anthousa’s company.  
  
“The festivities in the city are just about to start,” the girl said with a playful smirk on her lips. “It’s too early to be without wine.” She leaned the kantharos over Kassandra’s kylix to pour the wine, but then she stopped to inspect the paintings on the bottom. “Circe, the goddess of magic,” she said. “And her handiwork on Odysseus’ men.”  
  
Kassandra chuckled and looked down to the paintings. “Serves them right, for snooping around her island uninvited. Even Circe’s animals were more civilised than Odysseus and his crew,” she said.  
  
The girl laughed and poured the wine, drowning Circe’s island. “This is our finest vintage of honeyed wine.,” the girl said, looking up at Kassandra with her hazel eyes. “Only the best for Korinth’s saviour. But wine is only as good as the company to share it with. Don’t you think so misthios?”  
  
Kassandra took a sip of the wine and gazed at the round lines of the girl’s face, framed by honey locks that cascaded along the column of her neck. “Call me Kassandra,” she said, allowing her gaze to linger just a bit longer. “And yes, you’re right. It would be a sorry thing for Korinth’s saviour to get drunk all by herself.”  
  
The girl laughed again: sweeter than the honeyed wine she had just brought. “I’ll do my best to spare you from that embarrassment,” the girl said. “My name is Lais.” Kassandra felt the warmth from her belly shoot up to her cheeks as Lais gently touched her hand.  
  
“Come, let me show you the real Korinth,” Lais said and led Kassandra through the gates of the sanctuary and into the streets overflowing with people, wine and song.  
  
***  
  
True enough, the real Korinth was nothing compared to what it was the night before. It was still cold, but people on the streets didn’t seem to mind at all. Wine was available in copious amounts. And so were hetairai. After many months of suffering under the yoke of a ruthless tyrant, the porneion district was finally ready to reclaim its old fame.  
  
Lais held Kassandra’s hand and manoeuvred like a nimble cat through a river of people flowing towards the heart of the city. When they reached the agora, a cacophony of shouting, laughing, singing and sounds from all sorts of instruments engulfed them like a tide. People gathered in circles, some of them dancing and singing, others wrestling- and all of them drinking. Merchants and food sellers mingled among them, making a good profit.  
  
The smell of roasted meat reached Kassandra’s nostrils.  
  
Better the smell of roast than burning wood.  
  
She took a hearty gulp of wine, imagining all her demons drowning in it.  
  
Lais led her through the last row of stalls before the agora gave way towards the porneion district, where colourful garlands and ribbons decorated the illuminated columns and facades of the brothels.  
  
Just as they were about to cross the street separating the agora and the porneion, a nearby crowd cheered and clapped loudly. Kassandra slowed down and turned, curious to see what happened. And then, her eyes caught a glimpse of familiar figure behind the crowd.  
  
“Just a moment, Lais,” she said, releasing the girls hand. She pushed through the people to have a better look. She was not mistaken.  
  
Wearing a long, thick himation that reached to his feet, Brasidas stood next to an old man who looked like a peddler from his flamboyant looks. He lifted his hand in the air, holding up a string of stone beads that shone in a deep green hue, reflecting the multitude of lights around them. Brasidas took the string in his hand and carefully tucked it in a pocket under his cloak. He bowed courteously to the peddler, turning to head away.  
  
“Spartan!” Kassandra yelled to him.  
  
Brasidas stopped mid-pace and slowly turned around, his brow furrowed. When their eyes met, his face softened and she could tell that he was as surprised to see her there as she was surprised to see him.  
  
Kassandra felt a touch on her arm and turned to see Lais who was looking at her, and then at Brasidas.  
  
“Give me a moment to, um -- “ Kassandra said to Lais and glanced back to Brasidas, who eyed her carefully. Lais looked at him over Kassandra’s shoulder, rounding her lips in an “oh”.  
  
“I hope he won’t keep you too long,” Lais said with obvious disappointment on her face, but her eyes kept curiously inspecting Brasidas. Kassandra could only imagine what he was thinking.  
  
“It’s nothing of that sort, no,” she added quickly, feeling her cheeks heat up. “I mean, we have some… mercenary stuff to discuss. Just business.” The sentence felt even more awkward than the previous one.  
Lais laughed. “Don’t worry, I understand,” she said in a sultry tone. “You know where to find me when you finish your business with him.” She smiled in a such a way that Kassandra felt a shudder of desire prickle her skin.  
  
Lais closed the gap between their bodies and stretched on her toes. Even like that she could barely reach Kassandra’s cheek. She placed a light kiss right at the edge of Kassandra’s lips, setting flutters all over her stomach.  
  
“Take the wine. It might make him talk a little faster,” Lais said and left her the wine before heading to the porneion on a springy step. Malakas Spartan and his timing, Kassandra cursed to herself. At least she had the wine.  
  
***  
  
Kassandra walked towards Brasidas, trying to hide a lingering smirk in pursed lips. He was waiting for her with his hands tucked behind his back. She opened her mouth to greet him, but he was quicker.  
“You know, I have spent quite some time in Korinth,” he said with a voice of a storyteller. “No one ever suspected where I come from. Luckily, I believe everyone in earshot is drunk enough not to have heard how you just called me.”  
  
Kassandra cocked her head and opened her mouth wide, pretending to be offended by his remark. “Really? Is this how you great the woman who saved your skin?”  
  
Brasidas narrowed his eyes, but then a smirk sneaked on his face.  
  
Kassandra spread her arms, showing at the crowd around them. “You don’t need to worry. Everyone is drunk,” she said.  
  
“Everyone indeed,” he said and gave Kassandra a deadpan look. She simply offered him the kantharos. “Except for you. A shame.”  
  
“I would not be much of a Spartan if I refused an offer of wine,” he said and accepted it with a nod of gratitude. He took a sip, his eyes fixed on Kassandra. She felt all the wine she’d already drank that night playing with her thoughts as she tried to match his stare.  
  
It was difficult not to feel curious about this man. Who was this soldier that fought so readily by her side? She quickly scolded herself, blaming the wine for fiddling with her attention. Anthousa’s words rushed over her memory like a gush of cold water. The world seemed simpler when she arrived to Korinth, when the Monger’s life was negotiated as a price for answers. A simple transaction. But in the end, she was rewarded with even more questions and a meagre piece of information. But what if he really knows something? She cursed the flicker of hope and called it desperation.  
  
“Walk with me to the guesthouse,” she said, brushing away her doubts. “We can find a good spot there to sit, drink and keep the wine coming.”  
  
“Won’t your companion mind?” he asked, looking towards the porneion.  
  
Kassandra felt a treacherous flush on her cheeks. “Don’t worry about that, Spartan. The night is still young.”  
  
She took a few deep breaths in attempt to clear her mind from the effects of the wine, but as she walked, she realised that sobering up will be a task for next morning. Brasidas strode at her side and she noticed he was also struggling to keep balance as they pushed through the crowd, although his reasons didn’t have to do with wine as with their adventure last night.  
  
The guesthouse at the corner of the agora was full and overflowing. The only unoccupied place was a small wooden bench on the clearing at the side of the building, just under a naked almond tree. Kassandra ran to sit down before anyone else claimed it and Brasidas followed her in a slower pace. He winced in pain as he sat down next to her.  
  
“It still hurts, doesn’t it?” Kassandra asked. “Did the healer give you something for the pain?”  
  
“He did,” he answered. “But nothing could help me more than a week’s rest. A luxury I do not have.”  
  
Kassandra understood his words. “Where will you go now?”  
  
He sighed, watching the bacchanal in front of them. “Attica,” he replied. “Where war brews, Sparta sends her shadows.”  
  
It must’ve been a tough life. The weariness in his reply came from the body as well as the soul. She sipped her wine. How much he missed the green valley of the Eurotas river, the peaks of Tagyetos gleaming as gold in the morning sun, the taste of iron and sweat on the training grounds, statues of kings and heroes wrought from the finest marble, keeping a stern eye on Sparta’s posterity… She couldn’t tell.  
  
_This is his world, his home. Not yours_ , a voice in her head rebuked her. But some bonds were too strong to break.  
  
“Do you miss Sparta?” she asked.  
  
“Every day,” he replied. He didn’t try to hide the longing in his voice. “But the world beckons to be explored. A captain like you understands best.”  
  
Kassandra smiled, remembering the day when she first set foot on the Adrestia. She had felt as if the entire universe was in the palm of her head, waiting to be discovered.  
  
“And where have your travels taken you so far?” she asked him. “Any suggestions on where I should set my sails next?”  
  
She expected him to change the subject. She expected a diversion and a light banter. No spy should so easily be swayed by a few cups of wine into divulging his steps. But when he glanced at her, a challenge flickered in his eyes.  
  
His sentences flew long and lavish, weaving a tapestry of images, sounds and smells from all over Hellas. Anthousa was not mistaken when she said he had travelled far and wide. What she didn’t mention was his flair for spinning words into a delightful tale.  
  
“If it wasn’t for the savvy Thassian captain we hired, we would have been shipwrecked and picked off by the soldiers waiting on the shore,” he said after a riveting tale of his near-demise during a sloppy Spartan skirmish with a Corcyran trireme.  
  
Kassandra laughed and drank from the already light kantharos. “I must confess, I’m surprised to hear you spent so much time at sea. From what I hear, Spartans are cursed by Poseidon from their birth,” she said, amused by his tale. “Fated never to grow a pair of decent sea legs.”  
  
“True, but Artemis compensated us on battlefields where we can feel stone and earth beneath our feet,” he boasted. “No one can defeat a Spartan phalanx.”  
  
Kassandra rolled her eyes and laughed at this typical display of Spartan overconfidence. She drank the wine and took a deep breath, steeling herself for the question she’s been waiting to ask. “And during you travels at sea, did you ever hear of the ship called the _Siren Song_?”  
  
Her heartbeat started pounding heavily in the base of her throat. She saw a brief confusion on Brasidas’ face. “ _Siren Song_? Yes, I… I’ve heard of it,” he said.  
  
Kassandra’s heart jumped. “You did? You know where it sails?” she blurted before he could add anything else.  
  
“Only rumours. I have never seen it myself. From what I have heard, it used to sail the Cyclades,” he said. “Why do you ask this?”  
  
Kassandra let out a short breath. “The Cyclades,” she whispered. Her gaze escaped to the sky spotted with glistening stars and for a moment she imagined herself on the deck of the Adrestia, mapping her way eastward.  
  
“Kassandra?” Brasidas almost whispered her name. She placed a hand on his shoulder. “And its captain? You know something about its captain?” she asked. Her heart was beating so hard that it seemed like an eagle trapped in her chest, flapping its wings in a frantic attempt to break free and fly away.  
  
“Its captain? No, I… I never heard anything about its captain,” he replied, looking sideways at her hand, confusion now evident in his expression. “The only thing I know is that it was one of the most famous pirate ships that sailed the Cyclades.”  
  
“Pirate ship?” Kassandra’s breathing was suddenly cut. _The Siren Song was a pirate ship? My mother was a…. pirate?_  
  
Brasidas nodded, looking at her intently. “Why do you want to know about this ship?” he asked in a stern tone.  
  
Kassandra opened her mouth to reply, but her breath got locked in the throat. A voice in her started panicking, screaming to dissuade her from giving away any information to a stranger. But something deep inside urged her to talk. At this point, the burden of carrying her secret was so heavy that she felt it was about to crush her down. T _his is your burden to carry and yours only,_ the voice bellowed again.  
  
“It was not just chance or a contract that brought me here to Korinth,” she said, louder than she intended, trying to silence the voice inside her. “Anthousa hired me to deal with the Monger in exchange for information.”  
  
Brasidas’ face became more serious. “About this ship? And did you get the information?” he asked.  
  
“No. Yes… and no,” she replied, swallowing dry. “What I mean is, she could not tell me everything. It’s not the ship that I was looking for. It’s the captain.”  
  
A moment passed, before she could find the courage to continue.  
  
“Tell me,” he goaded her with a gentle tone, as if he felt her unnerved state.  
  
“The captain is a Spartan woman. After losing both her children to the mountain, she left the city for good,” she said, looking down at her fingers. She remembered the first time they clasped around the shaft of the broken spear, a gift from her mother. “She is the granddaughter of Leonidas. Myr -”  
  
“Myrrine,” he finished in a whisper.  
  
He met her gaze as she looked up to him. His face was riddled with questions. “How do you know of Myrrine of Sparta?” he asked in a hushed voice. “She left almost twenty years ago. Why would you -“  
  
His voice trailed away and Kassandra saw a realisation dawning in his eyes.  
  
“She is my mother,” she said, almost too quickly. It felt like a relief to say it out loud. She thought her voice would break, but the truth came out clear as it is.  
  
Brasidas shook his head slowly, his gaze trailing all over her. She couldn’t tell what was really going on in his mind. She didn’t know what Sparta taught him about her mother, her family.  
  
“Your mother… that’s impossible,” he said in a hushed voice. “Daughter of Myrrine and Nikolaos?”  
  
She clenched her jaw at the mention of her father’s name. “You know what had happened to me and my brother?” Kassandra asked.  
  
“I was a boy at the time, training in the agoge,” he answered. “But I remember the story. About the prophecy and how the ephors…” he stopped, unwilling to go further.  
  
“How the ephors decided that my brother should be sacrificed for the good of Sparta,” Kassandra finished for him. “And how we were both thrown off the mountain and left for dead.”  
  
“And yet, here you are. You survived,” he said with a tone somewhere between a question and a statement.  
  
“I did,” she said, her voice tense from trying to keep away the emotions that were boiling up. _We both did_ , she thought, thinking of Alexios. Of Deimos.  
  
“No one should have to endure what your mother went through, Kassandra,” Brasidas said after a while. Her name on his lips felt strange. But a part of her savoured the sound of it. “No one in Sparta forgot her. But finding a ghost that disappeared so many years ago… it won’t be easy.”  
  
“She came here to Korinth after she left Sparta,” Kassandra added. “Anthousa took her in. Helped her back on her feet. And here is where she won her ship on a lucky dice throw. But she didn’t tell anyone where she was headed.”  
  
They both kept silent for some time. Kassandra’s thoughts were a mess, a current of flashing images of the precipice of Tagyetos, masked men in the cave of Gaia, the cliff overlooking the Spartan encampment in Megaris, her mother, crying hers and Alexios’ name…  
  
Brasidas’ voice stirred her away from painful memories. “I know of Myrrine only from what my sister used to tell me. She admired her greatly.” He smiled with fondness in eyes at the mention of his sister. It caught Kassandra off guard to see him smile like that.  
  
“And Nikolaos – all of Sparta admires him. He is a polemarch now, leading the troops in Megaris,” Brasidas added. _He was rewarded well for his loyalty to Sparta_ , Kassandra thought, remembering his tight grip around her wrist just moments before he let her slip into the chasm at the feet of mount Tagyetos.  
  
In that moment, a servant from the guesthouse brought a vessel full of wine and offered to refill. They both nodded quickly.  
When he finished, Brasidas slipped a few coins in his hand. Kassandra took a sip of the wine. It was not as good as the one that Lais gave her, but at this point she was already too drunk to care. She felt a relief that the servant arrived when he did, cutting off the conversation right when Brasidas mentioned Nikolaos. Still, a part of her wondered where Nikolaos was now.  
  
They sat in silence for a while, drinking the wine in turns. But then Brasidas chuckled to himself and Kassandra looked at him curiously.  
  
“By Zeus, something was telling me that you were Spartan. You fight like one, but what led me completely astray was that thick Kephallonian accent you have,” he said.  
  
Kassandra blinked and started laughing herself. They both shared in a laugh that eased the solemn tension filling the air around them.  
  
“I’ve lived in Kephallonia since I left Sparta,” she explained. “That’s where I met Phoibe. The girl you saved the other day.”  
  
Kassandra could see it that mentioning Phoibe took him by surprise. “She told you?” he asked.  
  
She nodded. “She means a lot to me. Thank you for saving her.”  
  
“It took a lot of courage and no little amount of cunning to do what she did,” Brasidas said, smiling. Kassandra still felt guilty about the dangerous situation that Phoibe found herself in. But she took comfort in the fact that Phoibe was safe now, sleeping in her bed, with Kassandra’s spear next to her pillow and Ikaros keeping a close eye over the sanctuary.  
  
That comfort felt good. But now she had more important things to find out.  
  
“Brasidas?” Kassandra said in a soft voice. “You mentioned your sister knew my mother?”  
  
He looked at her, the same affection from before washing over his face, wrinkling the corner of his eyes. But in a fleeting moment it turned to sorrow. Kassandra’s heart sank.  
  
“She did, yes,” Brasidas mumbled, looking down to the ground. “She would often speak of Myrrine as strong and remarkable woman, worthy in her own right of the proud lineage she descended from. Your lineage.”  
  
It felt strange for Kassandra to hear these words. _My lineage_.  
  
“Are they for your sister, the green stones?” Kassandra blurted suddenly.

He looked at her confused. “What?”  
  
“The string of green stones,” she explained. “You got it from a peddler when I called you.”  
  
He reached under this himation and pulled out the string of stone beads. They were even more beautiful to see so close. “This?” he asked, hanging it over one finger and lowered it into Kassandra’s palm. They filled it up like a liquid. Some of the beads were rounded and polished, others had crude edges and rectangular shapes, and some had carvings of strange figures and symbols on the surface. But they were all from the same kind of stone, rippled in nuances of green, lighter and darker.  
  
“It is malachite,” Brasidas said. “The peddler brought it from Egypt. The writing is in their ancient language. A protection from evil spirits.”  
  
“Really?” Kassandra marvelled, brushing her fingertips over the beads. “I think your sister will love it.” She handed it back to him carefully.  
  
“I hope so too,” he murmured. And there it was again, the sorrow hiding in his silence. Too many memories were stirred that night. Too many ghosts from the past returning to haunt the present. And it was not only her ghosts.  
  
Brasidas started to untangle the knot of the string. He let a handful of beads slip off into his palm and he picked one shaped like a medallion.  
  
“Give this to Phoibe,” he said, giving it to Kassandra.  
  
She looked at the bead, and then at him, unsure of what to say. She took it and then she noticed a single carving on its flattened surface – a bird. She grinned and touched the carving with her thumb. “A bird, like Ikaros. She will love it.”  
  
She looked at Brasidas who was busying himself with tying up the rest of the beads back onto the string. A smile on his face dispersed all traces of the sadness that she saw before, and it made her feel better. “Thank you, Brasidas. For everything.”  
  
“I am afraid I was not much of a help tonight, but I believe there is still something I could do,” he replied.  
  
Kassandra looked at him puzzled. “What do you mean?”  
  
“I have my ways. Do not forget that I am a spy,” he said, stroking his long black beard. “I will pray to the gods that they guide you to your mother. And if they do not grant my prayers, the next time you make port at Piraeus, I will seek you out. Hopefully with something more than a tale I picked up at a port tavern.”  
  
She smiled, grateful. Hope kindled in her heart.  
  
“You will sail for the Cyclades now?” Brasidas asked.  
  
Kassandra nodded. “The winds are not so favourable, but the Adrestia has weathered much worse.”  
  
“May Poseidon grant you safe passage and Hermes illuminates your path,” Brasidas said. “The displaced can always find their way home, Kassandra. Whether it is a place, or a person. The gods have just decided that you will need to fight for it.”  
  
She couldn’t but chuckle at this remark. “They couldn’t make it any easier?” she asked.  
  
“Chin up, granddaughter of Leonidas. Easy doesn’t exist for us Spartans.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title inspired by a passage from a 4th century play by Eubulus, where Dionysos says: “Three bowls do I mix for the temperate: one to health, which they empty first; the second to love and pleasure; the third to sleep. When this bowl is drunk up, wise guests go home. The fourth bowl is ours no longer, but belongs to violence; the fifth to uproar; the sixth to drunken revel; the seventh to black eyes; the eighth is the policeman's; the ninth belongs to biliousness; and the tenth to madness and the hurling of furniture.”


	4. Of the beautiful and good, you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is a line from a fragmentary poem of Sappho (trans. Anne Carson):
> 
> ]of the beautiful and good, you  
> ]of pain [me

 

A ghostly fog covered the docks and wharves of the Piraeus as the Adrestia steered closer. Countless war triremes tied along the docks rocked to the rhythm of the waves. Their topmasts protruded like a forest high above the fog. A man with a torch waved from the edge of the dock, signalling a course for berthing.

“Cast the lines!” Barnabas’ voice bellowed through the air. “Why is the sail not furled up properly?”

“Seems the rigging on the sailyard got stuck again, captain! I’ll take a look,” someone from the crew replied and hurried up the mast.

“I can’t have the Athenians think that we can’t even furl up our sails before putting in,” Barnabas growled as he stood next to Kassandra with his arms folded across his chest. “Third time this week with same problem.”

 Dock-wallopers grabbed the lines that flew from the Adrestia and started pulling her in.

“I don’t think the Athenians would notice even if we sailed in with a platoon of Spartans, Barnabas,” Kassandra murmured, spying the docks as they steadily approached.

The famous hustle and bustle of the port of Piraeus was nowhere to be heard or seen. No shouts of men and cries of seagulls to be heard from far away. No sailors, merchants and goods from all parts of the world swarming the docks. Only a soundless stench of death in the air.

“The gods decreed a terrible fate on Athens,” Brasidas whispered and placed a hand on Kassandra’s shoulder. “I would rather if you don’t go inside the city, Kassandra. Even Heracles was afflicted by the curse that we mortals bear. Death spares no one.”

Kassandra cracked a smile and looked at her companion, the man without whom she would never have managed to weather through all the storms the gods have laid across her path since the day they set their sail from Kephallonia.

“Don’t worry about me, my dear Barnabas,” she said and put her hand on his. She squeezed it hard, feeling the dry skin covering his bony hand. “I won’t stay in the city more than I need to. I just need to see Aspasia. Hopefully, she will have something for us.”

Something. Anything at all. At this point, Kassandra would be satisfied with anything.  The last few months at sea have dampened all her hope and spirit. She left Korinth with little more than a rumour to chase. And she chased it, to every fishing village and shady port she came across, through furious storms and breezeless seas, pushing the limits of her crew and ship. She asked questions, payed for information, threatened and blackmailed, hunted ships. She spent endless days scouring cities, villages, ports and coves, following a trail too cold to yield anything but frustration and disappointment. At the end of the day, in her small room on the Adrestia, she would rage and curse the gods, bloodying her knuckles as she slammed her clenched fist on the wall of the hull. She would cry tears of anger and sadness, drink herself to stupor, then wake up the next morning fuelled by gods know what, force a smile for Barnabas and a determined stance for her crew to see, before setting a new bearing.

The Adrestia was anchored at the island of Seriphos when news reached her from Aspasia. Her letter was short and it didn’t reveal much, but news of the plague that ravaged Athens were already on everyone’s lips. Some people said it was a sign from the gods that Athens had reached too far and too greedily. Athens’ enemies took it as an opportune sign. But Kassandra who would benefit from it the most. The Cult.

 When Kassandra called on her crew at the port of Seriphos and announced that they would be sailing for Athens, she was met with quizzical looks. One quick shout from Barnabas set them in motion to prepare for casting off. The journey to Athens was a smooth one, but Kassandra knew that she would not find any peace there. The only thing she found comfort in was the thought of seeing Phoibe again. She remembered when she saw Phoibe the last time, just before she sailed from Korinth.

“You will come back to Athens soon, right Kassandra?” the girl had asked on the morning she was set to depart back to Athens. “I will do my best,” Kassandra replied, tucking a lose thread from Phoibe’s hair behind her ear. “I can’t promise you when, though. I have a difficult journey in front of me.”

“And you’re going without me, again,” the girls murmured and looked down.

Kassandra lifted her chin up with her finger. “Hey. We always see each other again, right?”

Now, it made her smile to think that she will be able to keep that promise.

She clutched the rail of the Adrestia when the hull collided with the buoys hanging from the dock.

“Good work, men,” Barnabas called to the crew.

Kassandra picked up her knapsack and pulled up a hood over her head, ready to move.

“That won’t save you from the sickness, you know,” Barnabas said in sombre tone. Kassandra chuckled. “No, but keeping low will keep my head on my shoulders,” she replied. “The plague is not the only danger lurking in the city.” She patted Barnabas’ shoulder and sped off the ship, jumping over the gap between the ship and the stone quay.

“May the gods watch over you and bring you back safe,” Barnabas shouted after her. She saluted to him and slipped into the fog.

***

The rumours of the plague could not duly describe the horror of what it really was. As she walked the street that stretched between the Long Walls towards the city, Kassandra remembered the plague-stricken village of Kausos on Kephallonia and the charred bodies heaped in stacks and fuming smoke. But this was much worse. Bodies were discarded on every corner of the street. Famished dogs sniffed around them, but even they dared not eat from the corrupted flesh. She could not discern if the decay on the skin of the bodies was due to the sickness or rot. It mattered little.

The living ones were even worse to look upon than the dead. They looked at her with haggard faces and hollow eyes, cramped in makeshift tents. Mothers clutching emaciated babies, men barely able to stand on their weakened legs, old people hunched like animals. All of them praying to the gods to send them a quick death.

Kassandra picked up her pace. When she crossed into the city boundaries, there were less dying people and corpses on the streets, but it felt nothing like the Athens she had known. The streets were deserted of people. Rats were everywhere. Guards were patrolling in small groups, keeping their hands on the hilts all the time. The Acropolis loomed in her beauty and splendour above the city, with marble columns resplendent under the sun, untouched by the suffering of the people below.

Before Kassandra could see the outer walls of Perikles’ mansion, she saw a crowd of people gathered in front. They were shouting his name in anger, accusing him for bringing down the curse of the gods upon them. A familiar figure was riling the crowd up, shaking his fist in the air. It was Kleon. When Kassandra got closer, curious to hear what he was saying, he called on his guards and left the scene with a grin on his face that betrayed perverse satisfaction in what he was doing.

Kassandra went around the mansion and scaled the wall. She reached the top and crouched, looking around for guards. No one. The gardens surrounding the mansion were empty. The fountains were dry. No servants. The paths that trailed through the gardens were covered in a layer of brown leaves. Ikaros screeched twice and perched on the top of the roof, looking at Kassandra. She jumped off the wall and went towards the back entrance. Suddenly, the door swooped open and out stormed the one person that could lift her spirits at that moment.

Phoibe spun on her heel and looked up on the roof. “Ikaros! It’s you!” She yelled to the bird.

“And where there’s Ikaros, there’s also…” Kassandra added in and walked towards Phoibe with her arms spread, wearing the widest smile she could muster.

“Kassandra!” Phoibe ran to her and jumped into her embrace. Kassandra swooped her off the ground and held her tight.

“I knew you would come,” she mumbled into Kassandra’s neck. “When Aspasia told me that she sent you a letter and asked you to come back Athens, I knew you wouldn’t take long.”

Kassandra chuckled and put her down. She kneeled to her height and took a good look of her. She seemed strong and healthy. It was the first time in a long time that her heart finally felt at ease. “You are well?” she asked Phoibe. “How are things with Aspasia?”

“She is glad to finally see you,” a voice came from behind. Kassandra got up and saw Aspasia standing at the door frame, her stance proud as always, hands elegantly clasped at the waist level. She wore a golden necklace around her neck and kept her dark locks carefully tied into an elaborate hairstyle. But her pale expression and tired eyes spoke a different story, something that no jewel or proud bearing could hide away.

“It’s good you arrived safe, Kassandra. Come inside.”

*** 

Kassandra was sitting on a couch in a courtyard that opened the middle of the mansion, sating her empty belly with some dried figs. Aspasia kept pacing around her while she talked. The people blamed Perikles for the disaster that befell the city. Kleon was fanning the flames. Every day, he would address the crowds at the Pnyx and urge the people to call for Perikles to be removed from office. Soon the crowds turned into mobs and they descended from the Pnyx to start gathering around Perikles’ home.

When Kassandra went to see him that evening, she understood why Aspasia was so desperate. He got sick. Broken in body, but not in spirit, he asked Kassandra to help him out of his bed and take him to the balcony, from where he gazed towards the Parthenon, leaning onto the marble railing on his frail, shrivelled arms. He smiled to the statue of Athena as it gleamed like gold under the last rays of the sun.

“I cannot ask you to protect my city, Kassandra,” he said in a quivering voice. “But my Aspasia will need protection, when I am gone. I can offer you nothing in return for this charge. Not even my life, as it will be claimed by the gods soon enough.”

“I will do my best, Perikles,” Kassandra said and forced a smile. A hint of relief passed through his face. Kassandra hoped that at least this could give him some measure of peace that night, as she escorted him back to his chamber.

Phoibe was waiting for her when she left Perikles, patiently sitting on the balustrade leading to the first floor, where the guest rooms were located.

A small room was prepared for Kassandra, with a single window and a wide bed that occupied most of the space. A small three-legged table in the corner already had a meal served on it. Kassandra’s belly grumbled at the sight of cheese, olives and figs. Phoibe jumped on the bed and crossed her legs. She smiled the way she used to when it’s just them alone, without any people around discussing serious matters. Kassandra recalled their days in Kephallonia, when they would spend entire nights on the roof of Kassandra’s humble hut, with nothing but the stars above them.

“So, did you find your mother?” Phoibe said in, as if she was just waiting for the moment when she could ask. At least someone asked. Kassandra took off her cloak and discarded it on the floor next to the bed.

“Unfortunately, I didn’t.” She took off her gear and climbed on the bed, placing a bowl of figs in the middle of it.

“But… you were gone for such a long time,” Phoibe said and picked up a fig. “I thought you would come back with her, so I could meet her. What will you do now?”

Kassandra looked at her as if she could find the answer on her face. What will she do now? What could she do? Every time she thought that something will bring her closer to her mother, she would find the way splitting into a thousand different directions. She thought that maybe Aspasia could help her solve out the small pieces of the puzzle that she gathered across the Cyclades, but Aspasia was in her own turmoil.

“I will continue searching,” Kassandra’s heart said out loud. And when I find her, maybe together we can find Alexios, she thought.

“And you, Phoibe?” Kassandra asked. “What have you been up to all this time, eh?” Phoibe didn’t wait to finish with her fig to answer.

“I didn’t go out that much lately, because of the sickness and all,” she replied. “Aspasia is not sending me on errands as often as she used to. I thought she was angry with me for something, but now I realise it’s because of everything that’s been happening.”

“And she is right to do so, Phoibe,” Kassandra added with a stern voice. But she knew that the mansion was far from being a safe place for Phoibe, or Aspasia and Perikles. The mob outside the gates had little to lose, and it was just a matter of time before they became brave enough to storm inside.

“Have you been practicing with your sword?” Kassandra asked.

Phoibe nodded. “Oh yes. With a friend of Perikles who was coming here before the plague, Thukydides. He’s better at telling stories than sword fighting, but he did teach me some nice Thracian tricks with a sword.”

“Thracian, really?” Kassandra laughed. “It seems you’ve been making some interesting friends. I will have to test you tomorrow then, to see those tricks you learned.” Phoibe’s face lightened up.

“Really! Oh, that would be great! And also…” she said and suddenly took Kassandra’s arm, turning it so that the palm faced the ceiling. “I’ve been practicing letters. Look.” Phoibe pressed her index finger on Kassandra’s pulse and started tracing it in slow moves towards the elbow. She is writing my name, Kassandra realised.

“Well done, you! Who has been teaching you?” Kassandra asked as she followed the trail of invisible letters coming to life on her arm.

“Aspasia taught me,” Phoibe replied, and her finger moved on, finishing the twin sigmas of Kassandra’s name. “She says that if I’m good enough to handle a weapon, it’s due time I also start learning how to read and write. I wish they would allow me inside Perikles’ study so I can practice reading from the scrolls he has. Have you seen it? He has so many!”

Kassandra laughed and placed a hand on Phoibe’s head, stroking her hair gently. She watched her finish the final letter of her name, just at the junction of her elbow. And then, she noticed something familiar sticking out of the cloth bands that covered Phoibe’s wrist. Something green.

She took Phoibe’s hand and took out a green stone from under the bands. Memories of a winter’s night not so long ago started to resurface, like white bubbles emerging from the black depths of the sea.

 “You still wear it,” Kassandra whispered, feeling he stone between her index and thumb. She remembered the feeling of having her palm filled with many of them, their weight, their alluring beauty. The charming way he smiled when she joked about the seaworthiness of an average Spartan. Back then, she thought it was just the wine messing with her head. But now… she wasn’t sure if she should blame the wine.

Phoibe pulled the bands up and revealed a thin cord that passed through the stone, fastening it around her wrist.

“I keep it hidden like this,” she said. “Where’s your friend? The one who gave you the stone?”

Kassandra wondered the same. She had been at sea for almost a full year, searching for her mother with just a handful of scant clues. And as for him, she knew even less. _The next time you make port at the Piraeus, I will seek you out._ That’s what he told her back in Korinth. Against her better judgement, she dared to hope that it could happen. That he might be in Athens now. But only the gods could know where Brasidas of Sparta was now.

“I can only hope that he is safe, wherever he might be,” Kassandra finally said. ~~~~

The night went on with Phoibe questioning Kassandra of her travels. Kassandra left out the gritty parts, wishing that she could simply forget most of them. But as the night went on and she kept talking about her adventures around the Cyclades, she realised that not all of it was so bad.

More than once Phoibe begged her to take her along the next time she sails. Kassandra wished she could take her that very instant, leave Athens and all the desolation that this once magnificent city had become.

A faint young moon peeked through the window of the room. Kassandra felt fatigue taking over her body. Her eyelids became heavy with sleep. Phoibe was sleeping soundly with her head on Kassandra’s lap. She stroked the girl’s hair and hummed the same tune that her mother would use to lull baby Alexios to sleep. The same tune that she would hum while gazing over the turquoise horizon of the sea, wondering if her mother was doing the same, somewhere.

She carefully removed Phoibe’s head from her lap and adjusted herself next to her side. It didn’t take long for sleep to completely take her over. She fell asleep holding Phoibe’s hand in hers.

 

***

The morning sun cast its rays through the window and caressed Kassandra’s cheeks with tender warmth. But she couldn’t feel the sway of the sea under her body. No voices of her crew shouting and seagulls answering. No sound of the waves as the Adrestia sliced her way to yet another island and another port.

Kassandra opened her eyes wide and propped herself on her elbows, unsure of where she was. Her heart started pounding hard. She looked around and cursed, realising that she was not on the Adrestia. The faint autumn sun blinded her drowsy eyes.  She looked to the side, searching for Phoibe.

But she was not there. Kassandra couldn’t recall hearing or feeling when she left the bed.

Footsteps approached the door. They stopped and the door creaked opened. Aspasia peeked through.

“Kassandra.”

The way she said her name made Kassandra suspicious.

 “You’re awake, finally –“

“What happened, Aspasia?”

Aspasia looked at her with guilt and concern all over her face. Kassandra got up quickly.

“Perikles is missing, Kassandra,” she said and grabbed Kassandra’s arm. “He went up to the Parthenon, I am sure.”

“Aspasia -”

“We have to go him, or else… I can’t even think what would happen if the mob gets to him, or Kleon -”

“Calm down, Aspasia!” Kassandra held her firmly by her shoulders and shook her. Aspasia looked away. Tears started to swell in her eyes.

 “I sent Phoibe to arrange a ship from one of Perikles’ associates,” she said, looking at Kassandra again. “She should’ve been back by now. But…”

 Kassandra let go of Aspasia and narrowed her eyes, feeling anger and fear boiling inside her.

“But what, Aspasia?”

“She’s missing.”

“How could you sent her out alone?” Kassandra roared and started gathering up her gear from the floor. “You know it’s not safe out there! Are you out of your mind?”

 “She’s not a helpless child, Kassandra,” Aspasia snapped back. “Give her the credit she deserves. She’s more a fighter than I was at her age.”

Deep inside, she knew that Aspasia was right. But she didn’t have time to think about that now. She finished fastening her leather thorax and picked up her spear, tucking it between strips of leather tied around her quiver. With a quick pace, she went out of the room and down the stairs to the courtyard, with Aspasia following her.

“First, I find Phoibe,” she said. “And then I will meet you at the Parthenon.”

Aspasia opened her mouth, but stopped before saying anything. She clenched her jaw and nodded.

 “Go. Find Phoibe. And may the gods watch over us all.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge thanks to all my readers and supporters. Your comments mean the world to me! <3


	5. On reaching the end

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For all of you who are still reading this regardless of my two-month hiatus, I love you. Thank you for staying with me and nudging me to snap out of my writer's block.

Brasidas took another step toward people whom he followed.

Two hooded figures stopped at the corner of the street. One of them kept his back to the wall and scanned the shady streets, still devoid of the rosy light of dawn blooming on the eastern horizon. The other man peeked around the corner. Their target was moving at a slow pace ever since he left the tavern. Probably drunk. And very likely unaware that he was being followed.

Brasidas glanced behind his shoulder. No one. Good. He at least was sure that he was not being followed. While he was on the business of following the two hooded figures. Who in turn were following the captain of the Adrestia.

The hooded men sliced through the fog lingering in the narrow streets and disappeared around the corner.

Brasidas waited a moment and then followed. A gust of wind played with the edge of their cloaks, revealing the metal strapped to their hips. He knew that they would attack the captain in a matter of seconds. The docks were close and they wouldn’t risk him reaching too close to the ship, where someone from his sailors could see the attack and alert the crew.

Brasidas heard a shout and the sound of swords clashing. Damn it. He burst out of his cover and saw the captain with his sword out, shouting taunts at his hooded attackers. They could easily have killed him by now if they wanted to, but instead they circled him like predators. They were so focused on him that they didn’t even notice Brasidas.

He took out his bow, slid an arrow along its curved spine, nocked and released. It found its target. One of the men dropped the blade with a loud clang and desperately grabbed the shaft of the arrow that protruded from his neck.

His companion jumped and retreated a few steps, searching for the archer with wild eyes. The captain saw his chance and took it with a roar. The hooded man parried his attack, retreated, stumbled. A fatal mistake. The old man pulled out a knife.

“No, wait!” Brasidas shouted. That man could still talk.

Too late. The knife kissed the hooded man’s neck and he collapsed on the floor. The sand on the ground feasted on his blood.

Next was Brasidas. The captain turned his sword towards him.

“Not a step closer,” the captain hissed. Long grey hair was messily plastered over his sweaty brow, yellow teeth bared in a threatening grimace. A single milky white eye made him look more beast than human.

Brasidas dropped his bow on the ground and raised his palms in the air. “I’m not your enemy here,” he said.

“Oh really? Maybe you’re just a poor aim,” the captain sneered and pointed to the man taken down by Brasidas’ arrow. “Who’s to tell me that wasn’t intended for me?”

Brasidas raised an eyebrow. “If killing you was my intention, I would not bother much with talking,” he said. “I am not the best of archers, but to imply that I would miss from such short distance…it offends me.”

“Don’t sass me, laddie,” the captain growled back. “What do you want with me? Speak your case plainly, or you’ll be joining them in Hades tonight.”

Brasidas took a deep breath. “Information. About the commander of your ship.”

The captain looked at the corpses around him, and then back at Brasidas. “You’re very mistaken if you think that pretending to help me will get you anything,” he said. “Walk away and count yourself lucky.”

“You are the captain of the Adrestia,” Brasidas tried again. “Your crew has been roaming the seas around the Cyclades for some time now. On your commander’s behest.”

The captain took a few steps towards Brasidas, his arm flexed and still holding the blade pointed at neck level. “And how do you know about that?”

“It is because of me that you took that course,” Brasidas said. A risky reply, but the sword point didn’t leave him with too many options. “It was me who told your commander that what she seeks might be there.”

The old man lowered his sword. “By far-shooting Apollo, you’re the spy she met in Korinth,” he said.

Brasidas nodded. _Good. She told him._

“I should kill you anyway,” the captain growled, waving the bloody knife in his other hand. “Your information brought us to nothing.”

“I could offer her nothing more than a rumour,” Brasidas said. “But my intentions were not to lead her or your crew astray. Without her help in Korinth, I could never have finished my mission. She has my gratitude and friendship.”

The captain didn’t say a word. He bent next to one the bodies lying on the floor, grabbed the rim of a cloak and wiped the blood off his sword.

“These men wanted the same as you, spy,” he said and put his sword back into the hilt. “Information about her. Come closer.”

Brasidas hesitated for a short moment and then joined him.

The captain, still bent over the body, removed the cloak that was covering the man’s chest, revealing a serpent emblazoned on the leather of his breastplate.

“Ever seen one of those?” he asked.

Brasidas narrowed his eyes. “Yes. They are loyal to no city. But no one knows who leads them.”

“Whoever leads them didn’t chose the snake as their guardian for naught,” the captain murmured. “They will bite you before you ever see them. But you’re in luck boy. Athens now is a pit full of these snakes. Track them down and they will lead them to her. If she even leaves any of them alive, that is.”

Brasidas grinned. “Yes, that sounds very much like the kind of mess where I could find her.”

 

                ---

 

Phoibe had a bad feeling boiling in her gut ever since she left Perikles’ mansion. The usual mob that used to gather in front was reduced to a pack of bony dogs who looked at her with hungry, hollowed eyes. The streets that were usually buzzing with life were now eerily deserted. She walked as fast as she could, focusing only on swift movements of her legs. Even the dagger tucked in her belt didn’t make her feel safe. She repeated Aspasia’s words in her mind like a prayer. _Go to Anastasios, tell him to prepare the ship for departure today, then come back here immediately. Be quick._ That was the first time that she had seen Aspasia scared.

The way to Anastasios’ house was not new to her. She had frequented the place many times before, bringing messages from Aspasia and back again. But as soon as she spotted the familiar outline of the roof and the walls surrounding the courtyard, something caught her eye. A stroke of shiny red smeared the surface of the wooden gate painted in blue.

Blood. Fresh blood.

Her body immediately tensed.

A hooded figure emerged from inside the house. Then a second one, and a third one. Hooded wraiths holding swords. Red swords.

“Hurry up! Perikles was last seen going up to the Acropolis,” one of the men shouted.

“A fitting place for him to breathe his last,” another one responded and laughed.

One of them looked around and spotted Phoibe. Her brain fired up, melting the ice that kept her body stiff in place. She took a step back, and another one, not even thinking about what was behind her.

“Hey, you!” the man shouted.

Another step back, then she slowly turned and started walking away. Her brain screamed to run as fast as possible, but her legs just wouldn’t listen. They dragged in sluggish steps, as if she had a boulder chained to her ankles.

She could hear them running towards her, shale crackling under their sandals. _Run_!

Her vision darkened. At first she thought that it was over, that they caught up with her, that they will use her to paint over the remaining blue with red. She lifted her gaze to see a shadow towering above her, a strip of cloth covering its nose and mouth, leaving only a pair of piercing eyes looking down to her.

She tried to pull out her dagger with trembling fingers. Her last resort. But she was only grabbing air.

The shadow pulled off the cloth that masked its face.

Phoibe’s eyes widened. She had seen these rugged features before. It was Kassandra’s friend from Korinth. There, she first met him in a situation not so different from this one. He had appeared out of nowhere as well, taking down her pursuer before she could even realise what was happening. His eyes now had the same glimmer, as if a daimon was inhabiting his body. He made a fast spin around her and pulled out his sword.

“Hide, quick!”

His palm found her back and shoved her out of the way. She heard a grunt and clash of metal upon metal.  The push kick-started her body into a sprint, finding the speed she was desperate for. At the end of the street she spun around a sharp corner and turned to see what was happening. One of the hooded men was already on the ground and Kassandra’s friend was parrying the attacks of the second one.

The third set off to escape, running towards her position. Phoibe looked around and found a broken piece of a brick lying next to her. She picked it up and swung with all strength she had in her.

The man let out a chilling scream and crashed on his knees, clutching his jaw. Blood poured from his mouth. He got up on his feet and spat out a fistful of teeth. His eyes caught Phoibe. They were red. Like the sword he held in his hands.

Phoibe closed her eyes.

She could see her heart pumping. Flashes of white over the black of her closed eyelids. The sound of breath escaping the lungs. Then silence.

A pair of arms grabbed her by the shoulders and lifted her up from her place where she stood rooted. Her legs dangled boneless in the air.

“Are you hurt?”

_What?_

“Hey, open your eyes. It’s all right now.”

Phoibe opened her eyes. The daimon looked back at her.

“Did he hurt you?”

 _He?_ Phoibe looked left, then right. Where was he? He was coming right at her and…she glanced at the mess of blood and teeth mixed with sand, trying to spot their owner, but the man holding her cupped her cheeks and shook his head. Don’t look. She understood.

“You are not hurt?” he asked again. Phoibe shook her head.

“You remember me?” he asked.

Phoibe nodded. “Yes. You’re Kassandra’s friend from Korinth.” She saw a faint smile curve the edge of his mouth. “My name is Brasidas. And yours?”

“Phoibe,” she said and forced a smile in return. The attempt made her lips quiver, as if she never smiled in her life.

“You know where Kassandra is?” he inquired in gentle tone.

Phoibe bit the inside of her lip. “She was at the mansion when I last saw her.” Her hands squeezed into fists as she remembered the words from the hooded men just before they spotted her.  “But these men, they said that Perikles went to the Acropolis. He is sick. He shouldn’t leave the house.” A grim realisation dawned on her. “They wanted to kill him, to kill Perikles. Kassandra must be at the Acropolis too. She wouldn’t let anyone harm him. We have to go there!”

She wanted to run, but the man kept her tight in place, his hands resting on her shoulders.

“These men said that they want to kill Perikles? And that he is now at the Acropolis?”

Phoibe’s thoughts were all jumbled up, thinking about Kassandra and Perikles and Aspasia and imagining a whole army of hooded men swarming the Acropolis, searching for them.

“Yes, that’s what I understood,” she blubbered, feeling her voice get weaker with every uttered word. “Please, you have to help Kassandra. We have to go up there.”

He gazed up towards the rocky outcrop looming above the city. “If we go there, you have to promise me something first.”

Phoibe challenged his gaze and waited.

“If things get dangerous like now,” he said in a stern tone, “you have to get to safety. When I tell you to run, you run. Don’t stop and don’t look back.”

Phoibe nodded.

“Stay hidden until you see it’s safe, all right?”

She gave him a firm, determined nod. “Yes, sir.”

“Good. You have seen how Kassandra’s eagle flies?” he asked her.

Phoibe blinked. “Ikaros? Yes, so many times.”

“When you see him soaring high in the air, he is untouchable, is he not? In control of his movements. Fearless. If ever fear starts to grip you, remember Ikaros.”

His words reminded her of the reciters of ancient tales of heroes and gods. Gods could fly, like Ikaros. She imagined how it would feel like. To look down upon the world as it stretches from one end to the other. To be able to tame the wildest winds under her wings and command it to carry her wherever she wants. To be free, unbound. Fearless.

“I can be like Ikaros,” she said.

The man seemed pleased. “And like Ikaros, you are your own master. You will not allow fear to take control of your body and mind. And you will not stop to throw any more stones. You have a good aim, but we will need to practice on that a bit more.”

Phoibe remembered the stone and the sound it made when it hit the man’s jaw.

Kassandra’s friend watched her for some time. His stern face finally dissolved into a smile. “All right, Phoibe. Let’s find Kassandra. Stay close to me and remember what you promised.”

 

\--

 

Kassandra fought for breath as she reached the last step of the winding ascent that led to the height of the Acropolis. She was expecting to find a whole army of Cultists lurking in the shadows of the gleaming-white columns of the Propylaia. There were none. She couldn’t decide whether this was good or bad. Bad, most likely. Maybe even a worse than what she had encountered in the house where Phoibe was sent to.

A gruesome sight welcomed her as she stepped through the doors smeared with blood. Aspasia’s associate and his household were all murdered in the courtyard. Even the dogs. Outside, the killers’ still warm bodies were strewn across the street. Clean cuts on two Cultists. A third one presumably tried to run, but he didn’t get far. His jaw was broken with a brick shard that lied bloodied next to him, but his life ended on the tip of a sword that came from behind. No sign of whomever killed them. And no sign of Phoibe. It made Kassandra feel both relieved and terrified.

Shale cracked behind her. “I hope you do not intend to storm the Acropolis all by yourself.”

She spun on her heel, clutching her spear so tight that she could feel her blood pulsating against the shaft. The man in front of her had all but his eyes covered, but that voice…

“You can come out now, Phoibe,” he called behind his back.

Like a thunderbolt, Phoibe sprang out of her cover.

All strength from Kassandra’s legs disappeared and she collapsed on her knees, dropping her spear and clutching the girl in her arms. She couldn’t say who held on more tight, Phoibe or herself.

“You are safe! By the gods, I thought… oh, I thought,” she mumbled into Phoibe’s neck. “How did you even—”

She lifted up her gaze to see a hand outstretched towards her.

“Trouble follows you wherever you go, Eagle Bearer. Makes you easy to find.”

Kassandra looked up to see a face that she thought she would never see again. He looked different. His beard was longer. His hair as well - it fell over his shoulders in tresses that turned light towards the tips. But the corners of his eyes still wrinkled in the same way when he smiled.

“And you tend to show up wherever trouble broods, Brasidas of Sparta.” She clasped her fingers around his forearm and he pulled her up on her feet.

“Brasidas saved me from the men at Anastasios’ house,” Phoibe said, still holding tight around Kassandra’s waist. “I heard them talking, Kassandra. They want to kill Perikles. He’s right here, at the Acropolis. We have to help him.”

Dark thoughts replaced a brief moment of respite. The Cultists seemed to be one step ahead in everything.

“I have spotted enough of them to form up several platoons,” Brasidas said. “They positioned themselves in key points around the city. At the docks. In the agora. At the city gates. All of them ready for a fight. The city guard would barely be a match for them, with half their numbers succumbed to the sickness.”

“If something happens to Perikles, they will use the chaos to hold the city in their grip,” Kassandra muttered. “We can’t let that happen.”

Brasidas expression hardened. “Let’s move then. We have to get him out.”

Kassandra looked down to Phoibe. The girl’s face was already set and ready for the argument that she knew was coming. “Phoibe…” Kassandra started.

Phoibe squeezed Kasandra’s arm. “Please, don’t send me away.”

Kassandra shook her head. “Things are going to get—”

“Dangerous, yes, I know,” Phoibe finished for her and cast a quick glance at Brasidas. Kassandra arched an eyebrow, puzzled by this silent exchange between them.

“It would be even more dangerous to send her away alone,” he said. “And we have little time to waste.” He locked Phoibe in a focused gaze. “If you come with us, you need to stay hidden. No one can see you, understand?”

Phoibe nodded almost too quickly.

“And if you see it is time to run—”

“I run. As if I have wings,” Phoibe finished. Brasidas gave her a sharp nod, satisfied with the answer. They both looked at Kassandra, waiting for her final judgement.

“It seems you two have a whole plan figured out already. Let’s go.”

 

\--

 

Kassandra felt her stomach knot up as they emerged through the Propylaia into the sacred precinct.

The statue of Athena welcomed them in all her terrifying splendour, untouched by the mass of sick and dying piled up under her feet, pleading for a final blessing as life fleeted from their plague-stricken bodies. A cacophony of voices called upon Athena Hygieia, the one who bestows the power of healing; Athena Soteira, the saviouress, who delivers from pain and suffering; and Athena Polillistos, the one sought with many prayers. The goddess towered in golden magnificence above her supplicants. Her cold gaze was fixated on the horizon, unrelenting and merciless.

“Kassandra, look.”

A hushed warning from Brasidas shook Kassandra from her captivation. He pointed towards the far end of the Parthenon. Men cloaked in black marred the gleaming-white marble columns. Only one among them was not hooded. His armour shone white and gold, matching the that of Athena herself. Braided hair fell long on his shoulders. He sliced through the company in black like a sword through soft flesh. Kassandra could not see his face, but she didn’t have to. It was Alexios. _Deimos._

Every muscle in her body tensed. Her nails dug deep into the wood of her spear’s shaft. It made perfect sense. No one but the demigod could be more worthy to deliver Athens to the clutches of the. But as long as Perikles lived, Deimos would be powerless to lay claim to the city.

Kassandra watched the Cultists disappeared among the row of columns.

“Phoibe, you have to stay here. Do as we told you.”

The expression on Kassandra’s face must’ve been enough. Phoibe didn’t argue. Kassandra led her to a yet unfinished part of the gate wall surrounded by wooden beams and supports. Phoibe was small and lithe enough to slide between the beams into a narrow space between the construction frame and the wall.

“Athena keep you safe,” Kassandra whispered. She reached for the girl’s hand and squeezed it hard.

A shrill screech cut through the skies. It was Ikaros. A mere moment after that, it was followed by a woman’s scream. An echo betrayed that it emerged from inside the temple itself.

Kassandra sprinted towards the Parthenon like a fury.

Brasidas called after her, but she didn’t turn. Every moment was precious. If she gets there in time, maybe… maybe she could reason with him. There has to be a way. A way to defeat Deimos and bring Alexios back. A way to stop this madness.

She found Aspasia at the entrance of the temple. One of the Cultists pushed her violently on the floor. “Let me in! Perikles!” Aspasia yelled and got herself up.

Kassandra grabbed her before she could rush on the guard again. Her unsubtle arrival drew the attention everyone inside the temple. She didn’t even try to count the number of masks looking at her. Her gaze was fixed on the altar in the middle of the room.

Deimos was crouching over Perikles’ shrivelled body on the floor. He tried to stop the blade hovering above his throat, clutching the steel with feeble hands.

Deimos pulled him by the hair, exposing the skin of the neck. The blade pressed on it, sliding in a slow, deliberate move. Blood trickled down and dripped in heavy drops onto the stone floor. Perikles’ head rolled to the side, eyes gaping in terror towards Kassandra who stood paralysed, unable to do say anything, unable to do anything.

She was late. For Athens. For Perikles. For her brother.

Deimos stood up and dropped the lifeless body on the floor. “You are weak,” he hissed through his teeth. “You are nothing compared to me. To my wrath. To my power. You see? This will be the fate of anyone who dares oppose me.” He pointed his bloodied blade towards the body of Perikles.

Aspasia let out a scream and cursed Deimos before the eyes of the gods.

“Stay out of my way,” he said to Kassandra and turned his back.

As if executing a well-practiced choreography, the Cultists gathered in a semi-circle. Step after step, they advanced towards the temple entrance. Their polished masks were like monstrous faces contorted in expressions of pure evil. Bronze snakes with bared fangs were sliding across their chest plates.

A firm grasp pulled Kassandra outside the temple. “We can’t take all of them at once” Brasidas whispered into her ear. “These are not common thugs.”

He was right. These were far from the usual lot of Cultist soldiers. They were Deimos’ elite men.

She looked at Brasidas. There was a hesitation in his eyes that she didn’t see before, not even when he was kneeling with his hands tied behind his back and his body was being broken with merciless swings of the Monger’s iron poker.

“Against two Spartans? They can try.” She took out her spear and shot a look at him. He grinned.

They slowly retreated backwards, matching the pace of the Cultists. There were indeed too many of them.

Kassandra’s heart almost gave up to the same fear that snatched Brasidas just moments ago, but the shock she felt slowly burned into ashes, giving life to anger. She couldn’t see Deimos anymore. The black wave pushed them out of the temple.

“Go, Aspasia,” Kassandra shouted to Aspasia. They could at least hold them off while she escapes.

Kassandra felt Brasidas’ shoulder by her own. They both assumed defensive positions, waiting for the wave to crush them.

And indeed it did.

The Cultists fought with brutal poise. Brasidas kept taking in most of the blows as a bulwark. Kassandra parried and deflected blows aimed for him and her. They could nothing more than defend their own ground.

With every cut and blow she received, Kassandra felt her strength seep away. Her focus was breaking apart in splinters. She thought of her mother, wondering if she was ever even close to finding her. Was she chasing a ghost all this time? Like the ghost of Alexios, roaming the field of bones under the precipice of Tagyetos? She will never find her. She will never find Alexios.

One of the Cultists swung his sword too hard, just enough to lose balance. A fatal mistake.

Kassandra took the chance. She plunged her spear into the unprotected flesh between the neck and the shoulder, ending the Cultist’s life in an instant.

 The spell of invincibility was broken.

Brasidas used the brief moment of surprise and broke their defensive formation into an attack.

Kassandra followed him without hesitation. Speed was their best ally against the heavily armoured squad. In no time, the marble steps that elevated the Parthenon became slippery with blood.

A wheezing sound ripping through the air interrupted their deadly routine.

Kassandra heard Brasidas roar in pain.

She turned towards him and saw him pull out an arrow from his lower chest. The leather armour under his cloak must have stopped the tip of the arrow from pushing deep inside the flesh.

Another arrow followed in a matter of seconds, but it missed him. He staggered and retreated a few steps back.

Two Cultists advanced on him.

Kassandra hurled her spear. The impact of the spear grounded one of the Cultists with such force that his mask flew away and shattered into pieces.

The other one took on Brasidas. Wounded but relentless, the Spartan offered no quarter.

An arrow hit the ground next to Kassandra. Where is that damn archer? A screech from above answered her question. She looked up to see Ikaros plunging into a deep dive to attack the archer. He had been hiding behind a columns of the small sanctuary of Zeus, separated from the Parthenon by a wide ceremonial street.

Kassandra lunged towards the archer’s position. Suddenly, her feet lost their ground. She was knocked down flat. Blood swelled from her mouth. A sharp pain seared through her jaw. For a moment her vision turned completely white. A kick in her loins ousted all the air from her lungs. She let out a strained groan and her body curled up from the pain.

A pair of hands grabbed her neck and squeezed hard, as if there was any breath left in her to choke out.

With the last ounce of strength that she could muster, she jerked her knee into the Cultist’s stomach. He fell on his back, pulled by the weight of his own armour. Kassandra pulled out a dagger and plunged it through the eye slit on his mask.

Ikaros screeched again. But this time the sound was different.

Kassandra looked towards the position of the archer. Her heart sank.

Everything suddenly slowed down, as if the gods played some tricks on the fabric of time.

The archer nocked the arrow. It was aimed directly at her.

 _Her own fault_. She gave him a clear line of sight and enough time to aim as she was killing the one who tried to choke her.

A small figure crept behind the archer.

Kassandra saw a quick flash of metal, the archer turning in alarm, and then both of them disappeared in the shadows of the columns.

“Phoibe?” she shouted. _It cannot be_. She told her to stay hidden.

She forgot about her dagger still buried in the skull of the Cultist and scurried towards the sanctuary, trampling over the bodies of Cultists and crushing pieces of their masks to dust under her feet.

Kassandra reached the sanctuary. The archer was on the floor, back leaning on a column and head hanging from his shoulders. He was knifed in the gut.

Next to him, Phoibe was lying on her stomach, motionless, with her face buried in the angle of her elbow. She looked exactly the same as the night before, asleep on Kassandra’s lap. When she could feel Phoibe’s long exhales warming her skin. Her hair felt so soft then, when she was running her fingers through it.

Kassandra found herself kneeling next to her, unable to form any thoughts. She could only feel with the tips of her trembling fingers. Phoibe’s hair was still soft. Her skin still warm. Her palms caressed her head, her shoulders, her back.

Brasidas appeared out of nowhere. He was saying something, but she couldn’t understand his words. His fingers sought the pulse on Phoibe’s neck.

When his eyes met Kassandra’s, she knew.

The archer let out a strained cough. He groaned, spurting phlegm and blood from his mouth.

Brasidas immediately pulled out his blade. But Kassandra was faster.

“What did you do to her, you bastard?!”

She grabbed the man’s head, digging her nails into his skin, and bashed his head on the column he was leaning on. His skull cracked with a sickening sound.

“What did you do?” She continued bashing his head until there was no more life in him.

It must have been Brasidas who pulled her away, tearing away her fingers that delved into the archer’s temples.

Her head was spinning. Her vision blurred. She rubbed her eyes, only to realise that it was tears that blurred her vision. She felt them trickling into the corners of her mouth, tasting of salt and iron.

She crawled away from the body of the archer that collapsed on the floor face down, revealing a mess of smashed brains and bones. Her stomach emptied its content onto the body.

Brasidas held her tight, but she pushed away from his grip, hands seeking desperately in search of Phoibe. She called her name, over and over again.

Her head collapsed on Phoibe’s chest. She swore she could hear her heart beating inside.

It must be beating.

She was just sleeping.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For many reasons, this was the hardest chapter to write so far. It had a lot to with the content itself. It was hard to reach this point in the story. I also spent quite some time reading on writing, as this is all quite new for me. Real life obligations also piled up. I had to produce a huge chunk of academic text during the previous month and it was hard to return to fiction writing. But luckily, I managed to push myself out of it. I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Thank you for all your support, kudos and comments. It means the world to me.


	6. Be without sorrow

 

Brasidas pressed two fingers on Phoibe’s neck. Nothing.

_Come on, come on…You promised me._

For a brief moment, he thought he could feel a pulse. But it was his own, drumming through his fingertips.

He looked at Kassandra. _Tell me she will be all right_ ; she wanted to hear.

 _It will be all right_ , he wanted to say.

One day, when the pain dulls away into forced forgetfulness.

But not now.

A groan broke the silence. Brasidas cursed himself for not checking on the archer. But before he could do anything, Kassandra grabbed the man. The sound of his skull being smashed against a marble column echoed in precise rhythm through the portico of the sanctuary. She exacted her revenge with uncontrollable, ruthless rage. Brasidas barely managed to pull her away.

When she went back to Phoibe and turned the girl’s body, Brasidas saw the wound. The small dagger that Phoibe carried was buried  so deep that the metal of the blade was invisible. She must have used it to attack the archer from behind, but didn’t manage to stab him deep enough to incapacitate him. He must have had enough strength left in him to pull out the dagger and stab her back.

It didn’t matter now.

So much was coursing in Brasidas’ mind, and none of it could find a form any of it in words, into something meaningful.

_I’m sorry, Kassandra. I know how much you loved her…_

And yet, they were both killers. How many lives were lost at the tip of his sword and her spear? How many dead girls did he see, and how many will he yet see before the war is over?

_It was my fault. I brought her here. If only I could…_

People die. Children die. The only mistake a soldier should care about is the one that compromises his comrades and victory in the field. The rest are of no consequence. They merit no second thoughts.

No feeling of guilt.

Now, guilt suffocated him.

He had an urge to slam his fist into the column as many times as it takes to grind the marble into the dust. Instead, he started pacing around, breathing in deeply, mechanically, forcing his body to cool down. A sharp pain throbbed under his ribs, reminding him that he had been shot by an arrow. He hissed and pressed his finger through the hole the arrow tip made in the leather armour, wet with blood.

He caught a glimpse of someone approaching. It was Aspasia.

“Athena preserve us…” she whispered as she walked by him.

It was the first time Kassandra lifted her gaze from Phoibe.

“She was not supposed to be here.” Kassandra rose up and advanced towards Aspasia, her fists clenched and eyes glaring.

Brasidas blocked her way. “Don’t,” he whispered and placed his hands on her shoulders.

She grabbed his wrists and tried to push him away, but he didn’t relent.

“What were you thinking, sending her off like that?” Kassandra shouted towards Aspasia over Brasidas’ shoulder. “She’s…she’s dead, because you sent her to do your dirty work!”

Tears poured from her eyes.

“I never wanted this to happen,” Aspasia stammered.

“You!” Kassandra bellowed. “All you were thinking about was yourself. Did you even give it a second thought before sending her off to the streets teeming with sickness and murderers?”

“Calm down, Kassandra,” Brasidas said, louder this time.

She looked at him, defiant, anger gushing through heavy breaths.  Still holding his wrists, she pushed him away. A column prevented him from falling flat back on the ground, and the impact seemed to triple the pain searing from his wound.

If only pain was the worst thing to deal with in that moment.

The crowd clamoured at the entrance to the Acropolis.

Brasidas walked towards the end of the portico to have a better look. Soldiers were arriving on horses, scaring away the crowd gathered under the statue of Athena. Their captain was shouting orders to spread out and search the grounds.

“City guards,” Aspasia whispered. She gave him a quick look that said enough. They had to leave, immediately.

Step by step, as if approaching a wounded beast, he got closer to Kassandra, who stood like a statue above Phoibe.

“I know this is hard for you…” he began.

“Don’t…please, just—"

“Listen to me.” He touched her arm, as gently as he could. She didn’t flinch away. “Nothing I can say now can make you feel better, I know. But we have to go.”

Kassandra shook her head.

 “No, I won’t leave her—”

“We have to. Phoibe gave her life for you – for us. The city guard will be here in a matter of minutes. They cannot see us here.”

Aspasia walked past them and murmured a prayer as she knelt next to Phoibe. “I’m sorry, my dear,” she whispered, removing some loose strands of hair from the girl’s face.

“This is not the time and place to trade blows of guilt,” Brasidas whispered for Kassandra to hear. “She also lost someone today.”

Perikles’ death will certainly change the course of the war. Not to the advantage of Sparta, Brasidas feared. If it had been orchestrated by his Athenian rivals, or Spartan assassins, it would be easy to understand. But instead, it was a move executed by a nameless ghost wearing a mask.

 “I will get you out of Athens,” Kassandra said to Aspasia.

“Thank you,” Aspasia mouthed silently.

Brasidas glanced behind them and saw the city guard approaching their position with fast pace.

“Then it has to be quick,” he said. “I know a way that leads from this sanctuary to one of the sacred springs at the foothills. Let’s go.”

\--

It took him, Kassandra and Aspasia a few hours to traverse the eastern district and reach the city gate, with all the streets teeming with soldiers.

Word about Perikles’ death spread fast.

And of Aspasia’s disappearance.

Brasidas took them deep inside the plague-stricken slums that spread in the enclosure of the Long Walls, leading all the way down from the gates to the docks of the Piraeus. When they finally stopped, it was in front of a miserly excuse for a house. It looked anything but homely, but it was one of the last hideouts used by Spartan spies that still remained uncompromised.

Brasidas pushed the door just wide enough to peek inside. It was empty. He beckoned to Kassandra and Aspasia to enter.

Scattered straw and blankets covered the floor. A thick layer of dust indicated that the shed was not frequented by any visitors for quite some time.

Aspasia paced around the room. “How long do we have to stay in this…place?” she asked.

“Not for long, I hope,” Brasidas replied and glanced at Kassandra. She remained silent, with a blank stare fixed on a spot in the corner. “We have to wait until the soldiers stop searching the area,” he said a little softer.

“That can take hours,” Aspasia muttered. “And who’s to tell they won’t come searching here?”

“They won’t risk it,” he said.

Going so deep into the slums was a gamble that Athenian soldiers never took. For Brasidas, at this moment, it was the only thing he could count on.

 “I will try to find us something to eat and drink,” he said.

He went out into the growing quiet of the streets, covering his head and mouth with his cloak.

\--

Daylight was quickly giving in in to a short-lived dusk. Brasidas had to rely on his knowledge of the haphazard outline of the slum rather than on what little his eyes could still discern. Scraps of words mixed with murmurs and a frail bark here and there were the only sign of life in this labyrinth of airtight streets, rich with a sickening smell of rot and burned flesh.

The house he was looking for didn’t stand out with anything particular from the rest that squeezed around it.

“Sinon?” he called, trying to keep his voice as low as possible.

No answer.

A pigeon perched on the roof broke into flight.

Brasidas froze.

“No one’s home.”

He recognised the voice and released the built-up tension through a chuckle.

“At least _you_ are here,” he said through a smile and turned.

A tall man stood in the middle of the street, clad in a tattered brown cloak, arms crossed at his chest. A hood was hiding his face, but Brasidas knew that tone and stance could only be accompanied with a sulky scowl. It wouldn’t be the first time.

“You bastard,” the man said. A reprimand lost its intended severity in the hint of relief that it betrayed. It didn’t go unnoticed by Brasidas.

“Come now, Diokles, there’s no need for—“

“Don’t,” Diokles raised a hand and crossed the distance between them in a few strides. “Don’t try to sweet-talk your way out of this.”

“You don’t want to hear my reasons?”

Diokles clenched his teeth and shook his head. “Come inside,” he grumbled and vanished inside the house.

Brasidas followed him and tripped over something the moment he stepped through the threshold.

“What on earth happened here?” he said, looking around and catching outlines of overturned and broken furniture. “Where is Sinon?”

“Extracted a few days ago,” Diokles said in a flat voice. “He’s going north with the army.”

He kicked some things and created a space on the floor to sit down. In a few moments, a faint light flickered to life from a small oil lamp in Diokles’ palm.

“Really? Well, I hope to see the old bastard again,” Brasidas said and sat down next to his friend. “He was one of our best—“

“Don’t change the subject,” Diokles said, without trying to hide his irritation. “By the balls of Zeus, what possessed you to disappear from camp like that? Just when we received orders to break camp? You are aware that I’m in for the same punishment if they realise we didn’t move out with the regiment?”

“We weren’t supposed to move out for days yet—“

“And if someone finds out that we are both missing, maybe it’s better we don’t even go back to camp, lest they brand us for deserters. You, the idiot who disappears without telling anyone what he’s up to, and me, an even bigger idiot who follows him.”

Brasidas put a hand on Diokles’ shoulder. “I’m glad to have an idiot watching my back,” Brasidas said with a grin.

Diokles groaned and looked away, shaking his head.

“I had an urgent matter to solve,” Brasidas said. “I owed a favour, of sorts, to a certain mercenary.”

Diokles narrowed his eyes. “And this mercenary was not by any chance hired to kill Perikles?” he said.

News like this travel faster than a swallow. Brasidas retold his friend about the masked soldiers with serpent emblems and Perikles’ death.  Diokles absorbed it attentively.

“It would’ve made more sense if Kleon sent his lackeys to kill Perikles, but this…An enemy that bears allegiance to no city? This is more than just a threat to Athens.”

“I agree,” Brasidas said solemnly. “But let’s leave these matters for later, shall we? Right now, I need your help to reach the port.”

“The port?”

“The mercenary has a ship there.” Brasidas stopped for a moment, hesitant of his next words. “It’s not just the two of us. We have Aspasia too.”

The faint light was enough to reveal the shock on his friend’s face.

“What? You mean _the_ Aspasia?”

Brasidas nodded.

“If I didn’t know you, I would start suspecting that you’re inventing this stuff up,” Diokles said.

He rose and prodded his foot on the floor, until a dull sound signalled that he hit something hollow. A hatch door appeared when he removed a shabby rag covering it. He pulled the hatch up and took out a sack from the shallow hole in the ground.

“I guess you came here for supplies. Here.” He handed over the sack to Brasidas.

 “Some vinegar for your wound, a skin of clean water and some dried figs,” Diokles said. “Sinon left it here before he left. As if he knew you’d be stupid enough to come back to this godforsaken place.”

Brasidas chuckled. “I told you he was good,” he said and tied the sack on his belt. “But your help will be more crucial than filling my belly now. Keep an eye on the soldiers. I need to know as soon as they get tired of searching.”

 “People tell tales about your skill, Brasidas,” Diokles said and pressed between his fingers the fire tongue slicking its way out of the oil lamp. “Do you always take a spare fool on a mission to do your reconnaissance? Is that the secret of your success?”

“Not at all,” Brasidas said, trying to supress a chuckle. “I rely on the very best of friends, always out there somewhere and ready to jump in the fight with me whenever needed.”

Diokles scoffed and went towards the door.

 “Let’s just finish this thing before sunrise, all right? It’s a long way to Methone,” Diokles said in a low voice.

Brasidas looked at him, confused. “Methone? What do you mean?”

“The orders came in after you left. We are being recalled there with the regiment. If you ask me, anything is better than staying a day longer in this cursed city.”

\--

When he finally reached the hideout after a strenuous journey through a pitch-black labyrinth of streets, Brasidas noticed someone sitting on the roof. From a nearby tree, Ikaros chirped. He cocked his head, as if giving Brasidas permission to come near.

He climbed the rickety ladder that led up to the roof. Kassandra was sitting at the edge with her legs crossed, leaning on a pole that held up a corner of a ragged canopy. Her leather breastplate was carelessly discarded next to her.

All his attempts to be silent were sabotaged by the creaking of wooden boards fitted together in a fashion that matched the decrepit state of the shed. When he sat down close to her, he prayed to the gods that the roof doesn’t collapse under their weight.

“I brought you some water,” Brasidas said.

She didn’t look at him.

“I’m not thirsty,” she muttered hoarsely. Her palms were opened in her lap, holding an invisible weight.

“You have to drink something,” Brasidas said and placed the waterskin next to her.

 “I said I’m not—”

She kicked the waterskin with her hand and sent it sliding across the roof.

Her body started shaking and her breathing turned into a series of broken inhales,  as if someone was choking her. She buried her face in her palms, digging her nails into the skin.

Instinct led Brasidas to draw closer to her and place his hand on her shoulder. As soon as he touched her, she slammed her palm into his chest. But she didn’t push him away. The force of the movement dissipated into her fingers that curled into a fist, clumping Brasidas’ cloak. She held tight on him.

“Listen to me,” he said, carefully putting his hand back on her shoulder. “Breathe. Out through the mouth.”

He moved his palm along her spine from the base of her neck down to the lower back.

“And in through the nose, as deep as you can.”

 His hand travelled up her spine again.

With every move, he pressed just a bit harder, trying to rub some warmth into her cold skin.

“Out through the mouth and in through the nose. That’s it.”

Brasidas tried to keep his voice as calm as possible. For him, it was not the first time to see someone break down like this. Those who experienced the battlefield knew very well that it was the mind, not the body, that needed most time to heal. Grief cuts deeper wounds than a sword.

Slowly, her body relaxed. He slowed the movement of his hand, encouraging deeper and longer breaths. It took some time, but it worked.

“If you want to make it to your ship on your own legs, you’ll have to drink,” Brasidas said as he reached across the roof and pulled the string attached to the waterskin. “Just one sip, and I’ll stop pestering you.”

She didn’t smile, of course, but the corner of her mouth showed the tiniest curl.

And then, she extended her arm.

Brasidas handed her the waterskin.

She popped the cork open and took a small sip. And then a longer one.

“Good,” Brasidas muttered, to himself more than to her. She turned her head towards him, but her eyes were still unfocused.

“I’ll head back to watch the soldiers’ movements,” he said and prepared to get up, praying to all the gods that the pain from his wound allows it. During his life, he had been stabbed and wounded with an impressive array of weapons, but never before did an arrow leave him with a wound so stubbornly painful. Halfway up to his feet, he fell back down on the roof with groan.

“You’re hurt,” Kassandra said with a raspy voice.

 “Nothing to worry about,” Brasidas said, trying not to let the pain show through his voice. “The healer told me it’s superficial and that I’m fit to compete in an Olympic race. Damned liar. I should ask for my drachmae back.”

 She dropped her gaze and frowned. “I’m sorry I pushed you.”

“Don’t worry about that,” he said with a faint smile.

Kassandra took another gulp of water and handed the waterskin back to him.

He shook his head.

“It’s for you,” he said. “I’ll be back in a few hours. Try to get some rest, all right?”

Just as he was about to get up again, she took his hand and held him down.

“Stay here a bit,” she whispered.

At first, his mind went completely blank. And then it fired up in a million question. Why would she want him to stay? What could he say or do to make her feel any better at this moment? Surely, she already realised how useless he was in this kind of situations.

He looked at her hand holding his. There it was – the answer to all his questions, and unlike them, simple and straightforward.

Not everything requires powerful words.

Nor great deeds.

He gave her hand a squeeze and smiled.

Her lips curved, a minuscule movement, so far from the way she usually smiled.

But it was more than enough.

\--

They sat in silence, as time passed on marked only by precision of an owl hooting in the distance. It started to feel as if they weren’t trapped in a plague-infested slum, surrounded by soldiers that would attack without any question, in a city on the brink of uprising, surrounded by an army. The thought alone made Brasidas dizzy. Or was it the exhaustion catching up and exerting its toll now that he finally found a moment to relax?

“Brasidas, I...”

Kassandra looked at him, but her voice trailed off into long breath.

Brasidas leaned a bit closer to her. “You don’t have to say anything,.”

Her eyelids dropped, sending tears rolling down her cheek. She wiped them off and rubbed the remainder from the corners of her eyes.

“Maybe I’m going crazy, but I still hear her voice as if she’s here with me.” Kassandra looked up at the night sky. A smile crept on her face. “She loved to watch the stars with me. I taught her how to find the heroes of old up there. She was insatiable. There’s Herakles, she would say. Tell me again about his labours. And I would. Sometimes I would invent part of the story just to piss her, because she loved to hear it the way the rhapsodes would recite it.”

He couldn’t resist but smile.

“There’s the centaur, like Chiron. The Pegasus. The lyre of Hermes. The eagle, flying high like Ikaros.”

Be fearless like Ikaros. And she was.

“What was her favourite story?” he asked, trying to brush away the dark cloud of guilt.

“Perseus,” Kassandra said, still smiling.

Tears poured from her eyes.

“I feel her everywhere, but I cannot reach to her, and it’s killing me. It’s as if a piece of my soul was ripped away and now there’s just a hole in the place where she…” The words got stuck in her throat. She exhaled a long, shaky breath. “I’m afraid that all that we had together will drown in this hole, that every time I think of her it will be when…when she…”

“Hey, hey,” Brasidas closed the distance between them and this time his hand sought hers. He took both her hands in his. “These hands did everything they could.  You fought to the last breath.”

“But it wasn’t enough. I didn’t keep her safe. I didn’t even give her a proper burial…”

“You did what you could, as best you could at that time,” Brasidas said. “And as long as you live, she lives on too. She will always be by your side.”

He shifted his fingers around hers, slowly, so that the contact doesn’t break. His thumb gently moved from one spot between her knuckles to the next, as if it was an old habit of theirs.

“You will never lose what you had,” Brasidas said. “Even if now you can only see the moment when she left you, and the memory alone leaves you defenceless, angry and lost, one day these dark thoughts will lose their power over you. Time can never erase what you had. When you recall her face, it will be one of those moments when she asks you to tell her the story of Perseus for the hundredth time. It will get better. I promise.”

It felt strange to make that promise, as if he had the power to dismiss it as he pleased. A presumptuous promise, from someone who was slave to the same kind of grief for a long time.

“How long did it take you?” Kassandra asked.

Her question rendered him breathless, like a punch in the stomach.

“What?” he blurted.

“How long until it got better for you?”

It should be a simple question to answer.

“I…I’m sorry,” Kassandra stammered. “I shouldn’t have—“

“It took quite some time.” He hesitated for a moment, and then continued, trying to keep the flow of words as calm as possible, against the wild pounding of his heart. “I made lot of mistakes on the way. People say it gets better with time, but time never made it easier. It just allowed me to accept what happened. And realise that nothing can change how much we loved the ones we lost.”

Brasidas thought his heart would jump out of his chest. He couldn’t say what made him more agitated – the ease with which he managed to discuss that which he kept hidden from the world with someone he barely knew; or the fact that Kassandra saw right through his walls.

In that moment, a strange sound echoed through the stillness of night.

 Brasidas recognised it immediately.

Kassandra propped herself up in a crouching position.

“It’s all right,” Brasidas said and touched her hand as it reached for the hilt of her spear. “It’s a friend.”

Diokles appeared out of the dark, flushed and breathing heavily. His eyes shifted from Brasidas to Kassandra.

“You have to move. It’s now or never,” he said.

\--

Kassandra jumped off the roof and stormed inside the shed.

“Aspasia?” she called.

Aspasia was curled up on the floor, sleeping. She woke up as soon as she heard Kassandra. “What is it?” she asked, alarmed.

“We have a chance to reach the port if we move quickly enough. Let’s go,” Kassandra said and helped her up on her feet. “I’m sorry that I accused you for what happened to Phoibe.”

Aspasia stroked her cheek. “You don’t need to apologise to me. I understand everything.”

Kassandra nodded and went towards the door, when Aspasia grabbed her arm.

“Wait,” she said in a low voice. “Before we go, I need to tell you something. If anything happens to me…you should know.”

Kassandra stopped and turned towards her.

“Your mother, Myrrine. I’m sorry we didn’t discuss the issue before. Everything happened so fast—“

“It wouldn’t make any difference,” Kassandra said. “I haven’t been able to find her.”

Aspasia squeezed her arm tighter. “But I have.”

Kassandra’s heart skipped a beat.

“One of my contacts gave me a name. She sailed her ship under the name of Phoenix. For some years she sailed with the crew of the pirate queen Xenia of Keos. It was Xenia herself who told me this,” Aspasia said.

The door of the shack opened. “We have to go,” Brasidas urged.

Aspasia lowered her voice. “Under this name, Myrrine settled on Naxos. This is where you have to go.”

“Naxos?” Kassandra repeated. “But I’ve sailed to Naxos, and I couldn’t—“

“You have a name now.”

After a year of desperate searching, a hope that seemed lost gained new life in Kassandra’s heart. “We will go there together,” she said and pulled Aspasia out of the shack.

\--

Brasidas and his companion took them through what seemed endless circles through the slums. It was pitch dark, and Kassandra could barely discern the outlines of the houses as they passed between them. But this didn’t seem to bother their guides at all. Brasidas’ friend was leading, while Brasidas himself stayed behind to watch their backs. She turned several times, searching for him. He was nowhere to be seen, but she knew he was close.

“We will reach the main street now,” Brasidas’ friend whispered. “Stay close to me.”

Their path opened up into the main street that lead from the city gates all the way down to the port. Brasidas’ friend signalled them to stay behind as he checked the street.

In that moment, Kassandra felt a light touch on her back. It was Brasidas.

 “They’re still at the same spot,” Brasidas’ friend said. “We have to cross the street, but it can’t be with the four of us together.”

“Then we split up,” Brasidas said. “I will take Aspasia. You go with Kassandra.”

He looked at Kassandra.

She nodded in agreement and he led Aspasia the same way they arrived.

Brasidas’ friend jerked his head in the direction of the main street. “When you get to the other side, go straight through that street until you reach the end,” he said to Kassandra, pointing towards a passage between houses at the other side of the street. “I’ll cross further down and meet you there.”

“And if they see us?”

“They will probably spot you, but don’t worry. One person will not look suspicious.”

He finished and disappeared.

 _They will spot me, but not you? Cocksure bastard_. She stepped on the street. She tried to focus ahead, but she couldn’t help to look around.

It seemed like a whole platoon gathered on the street. City guards in blue and white. Cultists in black. A rage surged in her. Not now, a voice in her head yelled. You will get your chance to kill as many of these bastards as you want, but not now. First you have to stay alive. She hurried her steps and slid between the houses at the other side of the street.

No one called after her.

When she reached the cover of a darkness, she ran. At the end of the street, just as he had promised, Brasidas’ friend was waiting for her.

It was a slum as well, this side of the street, and much more populated than the one where they’ve taken refuge. People were lying everywhere. Kassandra wasn’t sure if they were dead or sleeping. The stench was worse as well. It made her dizzy. She pressed her cloak over the mouth and nose and pressed on, trying to keep up with her guide.

When she saw the columns of the temple of Poseidon loom above the line of houses, she let out a short breath of relief. It meant they reached the port.

Her guide led her through the empty agora towards a cluster of taverns overlooking the piers.

“So this is what you spies do, eh? Run around through dark streets and hide among drunkards?” she said, breathless from all the running.

He chuckled. “Not everyone gets to be a misthios, you know. But we get our share of excitement sometimes.”

She looked at him and finally got a glimpse of his features. Light-haired, fair skinned, his cheeks flushed from the running. He didn’t look much like the usual Spartan. He was younger than Brasidas, and maybe even younger than her.

“I’m Kassandra,” she said, extending a hand to him. He gave it a firm shake.

“And I am your guide through Athens,” he said with a merry voice. “We just had a relaxing stroll through the wealthiest quarter of the city, as you might have guessed. And now I will take you to your ship, from where you can spread the word of the splendour and might of Athens.”

Kassandra arched her eyebrow.

“Feel free to recommend me to your friends,” he continued, putting on a showman’s voice. “Tell them to ask for Diokles.”

A call, very similar to the one that he used when he came to the hideout, echoed through the agora, making them both suddenly alert.

“Brasidas?” Kassandra asked.

“Yes, the slow bastard,” Diokles said, amused. “Good thing he’s not in command of troops, otherwise this war might take centuries.”

Brasidas and Aspasia waited not far away.

“My ship is docked at the southern docks,” Kassandra said when she reached them.

“I talked with your captain,” Brasidas said. “I advised him to move the ship further north. Easier to cast away from there, if you needed to make a quick escape.”

She couldn’t hide the surprise. “You spoke with Barnabas?”

Brasidas just gave her a smirk and beckoned everyone to follow him.

And sure enough, as soon as they passed the long line of docked ships, she spotted the mast of the Adrestia among the Athenian triremes in the northern docks, where the warships were moored. She could see a torch burning on the deck. Her crew was waiting for her.

Shouts echoed through the night. Brasidas pulled her into a dark alleyway. Diokles and Aspasia hid as well.

The Adrestia was so close, too close to stop now. She looked behind and saw soldiers led by a person pointing at the place where they had been just moments ago. They were being tipped off.

She looked at Brasidas and realised that he was thinking the same. The hell with stealth. There was no time to keep hiding now.

“Take her,” Brasidas hissed to Diokles.

Kassandra could see on Aspasia’s face that she was scared. She gave her a reassuring nod before Diokles led her to the ship.

One of Kassandra’s sailors who stood guard stopped them.  She saw the light from the torch reflect from the sword that he took out, but he sheathed it after Diokles exchanged a few quick words.

Kassandra looked behind again and saw the city guards approaching towards their position.

Just as she was about to make a run for the ship, Brasidas grabbed her elbow and stopped her.

She turned around, confused.

 “Brasidas, what—“

He relaxed his grip and put his hand on her shoulder.

“This is where we part ways, Kassandra.”

His words kicked her right in the gut. Whatever she tried to say ended up in a mess of incoherent attempts.

“I cannot go with you.” He forced a smile, but it couldn’t mask the sadness in his eyes.

Kassandra’s heart was racing, her mind screamed at her to hurry up, or at least to check how far away the soldiers were, but she felt paralysed, unable to move or say anything.

“Don’t worry, misthios. I have a feeling we will meet again.”

A hollow sound of wood creaking filled the air. The Adrestia was mooring off.

“I’m sailing to Naxos,” Kassandra managed to finally say.

Soldiers started to shout close by.

“Aspasia learned about a name my mother took up – Phoenix. She might have operated with that name in Naxos, and right now I’d take even that—“

“Phoenix? In Naxos?” Brasidas’ eyes narrowed.

Kassandra arched an eyebrow. “You’ve heard of the name?”

Brasidas nodded hurriedly. “An agent by that name operated in Naxos many years ago. She discarded it now, but remains loyal to Sparta. As ruler of Naxos.”

Kassandra could hardly believe what she had just heard. “Are you certain?”

“I am. As certain as I am that you have to go now, otherwise your ship will leave without you.”

Kassandra looked at the Adrestia. She glimpsed the form of Barnabas on the deck, shouting orders to pull out the oars.

“How much do you trust your feeling, Spartan?”

He looked at her, baffled.

“What?”

“That feeling that we will meet again.”

His mouth widened in a smile. He leaned closer and touched her forehead with his.

“Go,” he whispered.

His hand slid from her shoulder along her arm, but before it slipped off, she caught it and gave him a gentle squeeze.

“I’ll hold you to that feeling, Brasidas of Sparta,” she said and ran towards the Adrestia.

The city guards were already pointing their arrows at the crew of the Adrestia. Kassandra bolted pass them and leaped on the deck.

“Oars!” she heard Barnabas shout.

Arrows from the docks showered the wooden planks of the deck. Kassandra threw herself behind the railing, seeking cover.

When the ship moved away far enough to be out of range of arrows, she cast a last glance towards the docks.

Far away from the fray of soldiers, she saw a figure standing under a faint light, looking towards the Adrestia. He lifted his hand and disappeared in the dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note on title: titles of Chapter V and VI together form the last, 147th Delphic maxim and it goes like this: Τελευτῶν ἄλυπος (On reaching the end, be without sorrow).  
> \--  
> Note on historical dates: for those with a keen eye - yes, I've shifted the years around a bit. Perikles died in 429 BC, and the relief of Methone was actually two years earlier (431 BC). In this fic it happens after Perikles' death.  
> \--  
> Note on life: I have little excuse for not updating this for such a long time. But it's a good excuse, hear me out - I've been to Greece twice in May and June. I visited Sparta for the first time, Athens and Delphi for the third time. Fed my creative spirit. And I'm letting it go wild in July, when I finally get to go to holidays.  
> Thanks for all the comments and kudos - it means everything to me. I enjoy every moment of writing, but the thing that makes my humble words really special is when I see that someone enjoyed reading it.  
> \--

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! This is my first attempt at a longer writing project. All your comments and suggestions will be more than welcome. ❤


End file.
